Welcome to My Truth
by Calistabelle
Summary: Voldemort has won. Everything, even hope, is lost. But when Ginny finds herself thrust back in time and comes face-to-face with sixteen year old Tom Riddle it seems the world is being given another chance. HBP compliant-ish. GW/TR. COMPLETE Sequel now up!
1. Knowing the Enemy

_Got an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other  
And it's his good advice that I take.  
I live with a sprinkle of a little sin  
When the world is asleep I'm awake._

_With the roll of my dirty dice  
I'm only following the devil's advice.  
I'll take your love and leave my kind regards,  
But I never cheat at cards._

_So you really think you're leading  
When we tango across the floor.  
It's only 'cause my feet are out of sight.  
Mine is the hand that spins you round,  
Then it pushes you out into the night._

_With the roll of my dirty dice  
I'm only following the devil's advice.  
I'll take your love and leave my kind regards,  
But I never cheat at cards._

_**Disclaimer: Harry Potter™ belongs to JKR and WB. Song lyrics (Dirty Dice) ©Katie Melua**_

**_

* * *

_**

1: Knowing the Enemy

'Ginny, love,' Harry whispered through cracked lips, his fingers – so gnarled from being broken so many times – came to her face and brushed her cheek ever so lightly, causing her eyes to flicker shut in remembrance of so long ago when he would cup her face and kiss her until up was down and lights flickered and sparkled like fireworks in her head. No kiss tonight though. Kisses are brought by hope, however desperate – and there was none. There was nothing left.

'Tomorrow – they'll finish me tomorrow, love,' he croaked, so long since his voice had been used for anything but screaming.

Ginny nodded silently. Her heart still shouted that it was wrong, wrong, wrong, but there was no point saying it; there was nothing they could do.

'When they take me… remember that I love you. When I die in shame, please try and think the best of me,' Harry continued. 'I did my best. But, there were so many, and my wand – oh Gods, my wand!'

'Shh, Harry,' Ginny said, pulling his broken body so she had him cradled on her lap. 'You did everything. Face your death with pride – do you remember what Dumbledore used to say? Death is just another great adventure.'

'I don't want another adventure, Gin. I want my peace. I want my family and my friends and I want to be happy again. How long is it since we were happy?' Harry asked, not needing an answer.

They both knew exactly when the last time they'd been happy was. It was the last night of the summer holidays and Ginny was heading back for her seventh year, whilst Harry was off with Ron and Hermione to confer with the Order and come up with a better strategy for the defeat of Voldemort. Harry had tried pushing Ginny away, but when he broke down after the deaths of Lupin, Tonks and they're brand new baby Ginny had been there to pick up the pieces and set him on his feet again. She was his rock as he was her knight in shining armour. That summer had been full of delicious kisses and promises sealed with one night – one night – of beautiful love making, waking the next day to dusky light and complete bliss.

But the spell was broken minutes later when Ron hurtled into their room and announced the Death Eaters were at the Burrow. That they'd killed Molly and were fighting Arthur and they had to run, run, run. Things had quickly got worse. Ginny, Harry, Ron and Hermione managed to escape with no more than two broken bones between them, but it soon became clear that it was not an isolated attack. The Order had taken too long in indecision and Voldemort had played his hand.

One week. That was all it took for everyone's hopes – so high for success to be squashed beneath the heel of a twisted shell of a man whose very name was feared. So many died. The Hogwarts professors all fought until the very gruesome end. The Order members fought fiercely and passionately, but their forces were split and unprepared. There was nothing anyone could do. By the end of a very bloody week the remaining Order members were rounded up and ceremoniously tortured to the brink of insanity until Voldemort gave in to their pleading cries for death.

It had taken him another month to find Harry and his friends. They fought like they never fought before, but they were surrounded and outnumbered. Harry's wand was snapped soon into the battle, rendering him almost useless. Ron and Hermione had been killed proudly, staring defiantly into the blood red eyes of their nemesis as he screamed the killing curse at them. They had died together in each others arms. Of that, at least, Harryand Ginny were thankful.

Ginny and Harry had been taken and thrown into a dingy cell with next to no light and the constant dripping of water. Everyday Harry was dragged from the cell and tortured for more information, before being thrown back into the cell. Ginny simply had to watch and wait and help clean away the blood, knowing that this was her torture. There was no more information to give. Everyone was dead. Even poor, naïve little Colin Creevey, whose infatuation with Harry Potter had lead him to be one of the first to die.

The days had taken on a dull, pain-filled, monotonous feel to them, neither Ginny nor Harry caring much anymore. They were too hurt to hurt anymore. They started off by counting the days until some unknown hero would rescue them, but that too just added to the pain. There was no hero – Harry was the hero and he had nothing left to give.

The night fell with no more than the cell falling into absolute dark, rather than the relative blackness that stated it was daytime. Ginny huddled against the wall, rocking Harry like a baby until he fell asleep in her arms. He couldn't move on his own anymore – it pained him to even talk – so Ginny did everything she could to help him. She listened to the dripping of the water as it steadily pounded against the floor, a timer leading down to Harry's death.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

Ginny rubbed Harry's boney back, feeling the knots and discrepancies in the back of his ribs, even as her own thin back scraped harshly against the wall.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

How long was it since they last ate? How long was it since Ginny had last seen the light of day? How long would it be until the inevitable fell upon them and crushed them into sweet, dark oblivion?

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

So much waste. Ginny wished she could have had children and seen their bright green eyes and curly red locks – their chocolate brown eyes and messy black hair. How wonderful it would have been to have a little bit of her and a little bit of Harry to cuddle to sleep every night. She wished she could have seen them grow up, picked them up when they fell, cheer their successes, watch as they grew and had children of their own in a perfect world where Voldemort didn't exist and the only thing between her and happiness was which way she should express it.

The door was slammed open and Harry was torn from her unresisting arms. Once she would have held on and fought for him. There was no point anymore – there was too little of Harry to fight for. Too little of herself to fight. She listened to the steady dripping as Harry's faint whimpering and the harsh footsteps faded from hearing. Then there was silence. Long, deadly silence, until…

Harsh keening shouts started up, leering screams of joy as the boy-who-lived died. Ginny nodded silently and spared a tear for Harry Potter, the love of her life, the saviour of the wizarding world who hadn't saved it enough. She let the tear run and fall to the floor, the final drip before she too was dragged from the room.

She felt the thin cloth of her shirt tear, but she could stand on her own and did not fall. As she looked with what little defiance she had left at the Death Eater, shock coursed through her – she recognised those eyes. Severus Snape thrust something around her neck, telling her only to turn it once and no more, when the time came. She had thought he was dead along with the rest of the Order. Obviously he had never been the spy they all presumed – but then why was he doing this? What was it?

Not having time to ask her questions and knowing that they wouldn't have been answered anyway, Ginny was shoved up rough stone steps into bright light. At least, it was brighter than any she had seen for so long. She was pushed forward and she stumbled slightly, but managed to catch herself before she fell, looking up into the hard, cold eyes of a twisted snake of a man who returned her gaze with cool indifference, though she could see the dark flash of triumph in the back of them.

'Ginevra Molly Weasley,' he said calmly to her, hissing over the 's' in her sirname. 'The last of the blood traitors.'

'Tom Marvolo Riddle,' Ginny bit back. 'The leader of the extremist loonies.'

Voldemort, to Ginny's surprised, merely cackled in response. 'Ah, but at least I won.'

Ginny found the last of her dignity and lifted her head high, her chin held up in desperate defiance as she slowly revolved on the spot to look each and every member in the eye. Some she recognised – the Malfoys, Greyback, Nott Jr – some she did not, and though they would never admit to it, in their very heart of hearts they were scared of this red headed girl.

Ginny saved Snape until last and when she looked, finally, into his eyes they blinked stoically back at her, though one stretched slightly as though, beneath his mask, Snape was raising a thin eyebrow at her, daring her not to trust him. When the youngest and only remaining Weasley turned to face Voldemort she sighed tiredly, lowering her head as if in admission.

Her hand came up to her neck and ducked under the material of her blouse, causing several wolf whistles to pierce the air. Ginny withdrew her hand, holding the pendant easily between finger and thumb. She took a long look at it and recognised its significance. A slow, vindictive smirk crept across her face. Ginny looked up into Voldemort's eyes.

'Not yet,' she said, and flipped it once.

Then the world was devoured by oblivion.

* * *

Ginny was lying on something fairly hard, but with a fairly spongy covering. She wondered what it was for a while before deciding she didn't care. She was hungry, tired and her whole body _ached_. It would be so easy to slip into an endless sleep that you couldn't wake up from. But that was OK; Ginny didn't really feel like she wanted to wake up.

Then someone screamed.

It was a very annoying noise, Ginny decided, screwing up her features as she tried in vain to block out the noise. Moments later it stopped, but it was replaced by a blubbering, fidgety sort of explanation that was just as annoying, though it was, thankfully, lower-pitched.

'What is it Wilson?' A brisk, no nonsense sort of voice asked impatiently.

'O-over there! Behind th-the bushes!'

Ginny heard an irritated sigh and felt she could empathise for the sigher completely. 'You better not be having me on, or you'll be cleaning the toilets all week next week as well.'

The screamer gave a squeal and Ginny felt like swearing at him. She held her tongue, however, when she heard the rustle of a bush being parted and choking gasp was heard. Ginny opened her eyes slowly, with much reluctance, to find a shocked Hufflepuff staring down at her, his bright yellow hair matching the prefect badge glittering on his chest.

'Who… who are you?'

'In fucking pain,' Ginny groused, her voice somehow fairly steady, though a little thick.

'Of course,' the boy said, before spinning around and ordering the other boy to go and get Professor Dumbledore. 'Are you going to be all right?' he asked tentatively.

Ginny glared at him, not moving from her fairly comfortable position on the grass. 'No,' she answered bluntly.

'What's wrong?'

'A lot of things, none of which I want to tell you,' she huffed.

'Oh great,' the boy moaned. 'You're another one of those pissy Slytherins, aren't you? So high and mighty on your soapboxes, looking down on the rest of the world –'

'How the Hell am I supposed to look _down_ at you when I'm lying on the floor,' Ginny spat back distastefully.

'Now, now dear, there's no need for that kind of language,' a familiar voice said from behind the Hufflepuff.

Ginny rolled her eyes and tried to sit up now that Dumbledore was here, inadvertently groaning as she did so.

'Don't move,' the professor said gently, looking less tired, and old htan he had the last time Ginny had seen him.

'I feel a lot better now than I did this morning,' Ginny said scornfully. 'I think I can handle this.'

Dumbledore frowned, watching as she hefted herself to her feet. 'What happened?'

'A lot.' Ginny replied. 'Professor, can we talk somewhere private?' she asked with a significant look at the two boys, who were watching her with unmasked curiosity.

'First I think you need to visit Headmaster Dippet.'

'No.' Ginny stopped him. Normally she never would have talked to Dumbledore this way – respect for the dead and all that – but she had been through a lot since then and she needed to tell someone she could trust. 'I need to talk to _you_ alone.'

'You know me?'

Ginny snorted in disbelief. Even in this time – whenever it was – Dumbledore would still be well known. 'Who doesn't know you?'

The professor stood a long minute, contemplating, before his eyes twinkled and he said wryly, 'I'm sure the rules can be bent a little.'

'Trust me, they'll be bent more than a little,' Ginny muttered under her breath as she followed him towards the castle. With his back turned to her Ginny did not see the momentary concern flash across his features as he heard, clearly, what she had said with the spooky advanced hearing of a good teacher.

Ginny looked up at Hogwarts with a strong sense of nostalgia for the old days, when things had been normal. But, then, things had never been normal. Her first year at Hogwarts she had been ensnared by the diary of Tom Riddle and trapped in the Chamber of Secrets. Her second year the 'notorious' Sirius Black was on the loose and infiltrated the Gryffindor common rooms. Third year heralded the Triwizard Tournament and the return of Voldemort. Fourth year she and a group of other students went into the ministry and fought against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Fifth Year saw the death of Dumbledore and the first of many attacks on Hogwarts. Sixth year had been the year of death and reconciliations. Seventh year she had been thrown into a cell and watched as the love of her life was tortured daily. No, she had never quite known normal.

But, in between the tragedies and the adventures there had been laughter and love and quidditch and butterbeer and Hogsmeade visits and Christmases and Birthdays and even a wedding or two. When she looked up at the castle it was not the deaths she was reminded of, but family and friends and all of the good times.

Dumbledore watched the girl's face with interest. Though she seemed barely sixteen years old her eyes had a depth of sorrow to them that he had not seen since that morning when he had looked at himself in the mirror and let his mask slip – just a little – as he remembered his long dead sister. She walked like the weight of the world was on her shoulders and her form seemed so frail, so weak that it seemed impossible that she might stand for longer than a second before her grief carried her down a road of no return.

As Ginny stepped into the Entrance Hall she paused momentarily, closing her eyes and just breathing in the smell of magic that was purely Hogwarts. She had never hoped to see this place again, never hoped to see sunlight or clouds or her friends ever again. At that Ginny caught herself. She never would see her friends again.

'Professor?' she asked quietly as she followed him to the transfiguration classrooms.

'Yes?'

'What year is it?'

Dumbledore's head snapped round and he stared at her intently for a moment, his bright blue eyes trying to pierce through her, but for Ginny occulumency had become second nature – she barely realised she had brought up her barriers until she felt his push.

'Tell me,' Ginny said on a sigh, now having to concentrate to keep him out of her mind.

'1943,' Dumbledore said, backing slowly away from her mental barriers. 'Where did you learn skills like that?'

'If you will allow me to explain, professor, and I will tell you everything.'

The old man nodded slowly, sitting at his desk and offering Ginny one of the students' chairs. After all that had happened so far, and the thin tiredness of the girl before him Dumbledore found he was more disturbed than surprised when Ginny placed several warding and silencing charms around the two of them before proceeding with her explanation.

'I'm from the future. I've been sent back over fifty years-' at that Ginny stopped, her eyes wide with surprise and realisation. A breath passed her lips, before she turned back to her monologue. 'Sent back to, well, I'm not sure yet, but it involves Riddle. He – you're right professor. Riddle becomes powerful, very powerful. You fought, we all did, but in the end he was too powerful.' Ginny let out a long, shuddering breath. 'I'm the only one left. They all died, everyone, and I can't let that happen again.

'I know that meddling with time is dangerous and messy. A very clever friend once used it for almost a year to do lots of extra lessons, but all she ever did was learn. I'm back to change all of history.'

'You can't do that,' Dumbledore said without his usual preamble.

Ginny swept around to face him, tears rolling heatedly down her face, her lanky red hair clinging to the damp. 'Don't you get it? They died! All of them! Every single family member and friend. Every last remainder of what was good and right in the world was tortured and killed, the very best of whom tortured daily for information that didn't exist! And I watched. I was forced to watch and listen as he screamed and screamed and when the sadistic bastard finally killed him I listened to their laughter and glee.' Ginny collapsed to the floor, holding her head in her hands. A hoarse whisper floated from her lips, 'you have to help me.'

* * *

It was the first day back after the Christmas Holidays and the crowd pouring in to the Great Hall were as rambunctious and excited as ever, but that did not stop a confused, quieting thrill run through the students at they saw the Sorting Hat and its stool lying, calm as you please, before the High Table, the teachers watching with curiosity at how the students would react.

Once everyone was finally seated Headmaster Dippet stood to address the hall. 'Welcome back, everyone. I am pleased to announce we have a new student joining us from Egypt to spend the rest of her school career here. If you would all like to give a warm welcome to Miss Ginevra Craigson.'

Ginny stepped forward from where she had been hiding in the shadows behind the teachers' table and was greeted by a warm, if hesitant, round of applause.

'I'm sure you all have questions for her, but Miss Craigson has suffered a great loss in the past month and I ask you to refrain from inquiring after her past until such time that she is comfortable to talk about it,' Dippet continued. 'Miss, Craigson, if you will,' he said, gesturing to the hat.

Ginny nodded, a slight half smile on her face. As if she didn't already know where she was going to go. She had tried to talk the Headmaster and Dumbledore out of doing the Sorting Ceremony, but they had insisted that if they were playing her game, she would play by their rules. Ginny lifted the hat and sat down, placing it comfortably on her honey red hair.

'Ah, I know you! I haven't sorted you yet, but you have been sorted by me,' the Hat told her as if it was a completely normal occurrence. 'Oh no, not completely normal, just more frequent than you'd think,' the Hat corrected her. 'Now, where do we put you? You still have your Gryffindor characteristics, but there is more there. You have suffered a lot, but I think you will thrive in this time. I think… yes, you shall be… SLYTHERIN!' It shouted.

Ginny felt the shock reverberate down her spine to her very toes, but the immaculate, half-smile mask didn't falter. Maybe she was more Slytherin than she realised. Ginny stood and placed the Hat carefully back down before heading to the table of clapping green-robed students. Her eyes swept down the table and, sure enough, found the eerily familiar face of Tom Riddle, inspecting her blankly. He, too, was in sixth year and as his eyes met hers the other side of her mouth curved up and she slid into a spot opposite him.

'Hi,' she said pleasantly, turning to look each of her new classmates in the eye. 'I'm Ginny.'

'That's a very… muggle name,' the boy sat next to her sneered.

Ginny arched an eyebrow at him, chocolate eyes cold and hard. 'Why, what's yours?'

'Theodore Grant.'

'Huh, funny that,' Ginny said, turning away from him to pick a chicken leg from the dishes that had appeared.

'Hows my name funny?' Grant hissed at her.

'Last Theodore I knew, his father was a werewolf, his mother a blood traitor of the worst sort with shocking pink hair,' Ginny silently apologised to Tonks, whose hair she had greatly admired, when she grimaced in faked disgust. 'And the one before that, well. He was Muggle and died pleading for forgiveness.' Again, Ginny apologised to whatever Gods there might be that Teddy Jr. and Sr. would forgive her.

'And that is why you don't spite new girls, Ted,' a girl with dark brown hair said, her ebony eyes sparkling with glee. 'I've been trying to find a suitable insult to throw at him all day! I'm Eileen Prince, by the way.' The girl introduced herself, thrusting a hand towards Ginny, who shook it easily enough. 'Ted here is OK, once you get to know him. But damn is he annoying.'

'You love me for it,' the black haired boy drawled.

'Yeah… unluckily for me,' Eileen said, rolling her eyes. 'This is Yuna, Francis, David, Henrietta, Katrina, Marisse, Georgia and, of course, Tom.'

Ginny glanced round at the other sixth years, memorising each face as their name was being said. She didn't recognise any of them, except, perhaps, Eileen, whose eyes Ginny remembered from somewhere, but then Voldemort did not become powerful for a long time after he left school.

Each of the sixth years nodded or offered a hand, except for Riddle.

'Who are you?' he asked once the introductions were over, his voice exactly as Ginny remembered it.

'Ginevra Craigson.'

'That isn't your real name.'

'Why would you think that?'

'It doesn't suit you.'

'Should I be flattered or pissed off?'

'Pissed off,' Riddle said with a quirk of his lips.

'Good, because I am,' Ginny replied icily, even as a chill of a different sort ran down her spine, making her hair stand on end.

'And yet you haven't exploded.'

Ginny sniggered then, glancing across the hall to the Gryffindor table where she could see red hair so similar to hers among the varying shades of brown and black. 'I may _look_ like a Weasley, doesn't mean I act like one.'

Her fellow sixth years all smirked in appreciation, each of them absorbed by the conversation, even as they pretended not to be.

'You know the Weasleys?' Riddle prompted, ignoring the implications of what she had said.

'There are so many of them it's hard _not_ to know the Weasleys.'

Again Ginny was rewarded with a few more smirks.

'Even in Egypt?'

Ginny sat back suddenly, aware that she had been leaning across the table towards Riddle as he had been leaning towards her. 'There's a lot I don't know, Tom Riddle, but when one decides to arrive in a country with a political climate such as this one, even I am not stupid enough not to delve a little deeper into who has the power and who does not.'

'Bravo!' Eileen said, effectively shutting Riddle up. 'Tom often decides to go into inquisitorial mode, but for a newbie that was good.'

Riddle inclined his head to Ginny, who merely blinked impassively back at him. 'I may be a newbie with Riddle, here, but after the hours of stewing I got from Dumbledore and Dippet, you could say I had practise,' she said ruefully to Eileen.

'And after he told us all not to ask you too much,' one of the other girls, Henrietta, said, shaking her head.

'Am I allowed to eat now?' Ginny asked plaintively, causing several other sniggers. Not waiting for a reply, Ginny dug in, thinking a lot about the previous week. Dumbledore had not asked for a lot of details and had specifically not asked for her surname, but when he talked to the Headmaster, both he and Dippet had agreed it would be for the better if Ginny was introduced to the school at the Christmas feast and should be kept secluded until then.

Ginny had spent a lot of time reading. Someone had gone to Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley to get the books she needed and she'd been snuck out to get a wand, but other than that nothing exciting had happened. Ginny refused to take off the time turner, which had annoyed the two professors, but they said nothing. Ginny had spent a while practising with her new wand, but this one was better than her old one so she had next to no difficulty in wielding it, so she had, indeed, immersed herself in the current political state of affairs, chuckling to herself when it seemed this Minister – Crawley – seemed to fudge things up worse than Fudge.

Now Ginny looked at the faces around her and wondered if any of them would get out of this alive. She watched Eileen Prince with a growing sense of dread. The more she saw those eyes the more she remembered the eyes that had given her the time turner – the black eyes that had dared her not to try it. And Ginny knew what happened to Severus Snape's mother. Beaten to death by her abusive muggle partner. Not a pretty ending. But Ginny was here to change things. She only hoped she could change that fact too.

* * *

Ginny woke very early the next morning, the sunlight from the magicked windows cutting through her sleep and unceremoniously dumping her in consciousness. She rolled out of bed and stretched like a cat in the sunshine before heading in to the showers. It felt wonderful to be clean again, to be able to wash away the months of blood and grime from her skin. Ginny found herself humming a nonsense song of her childhood as the water droplets slashed over her. Better not to think about the dripping.

Changing quickly Ginny went to her bed and drew back the curtains completely, pulling a book from her bedside table she set it before her as she started brushing her hair, tugging at the unforgiving knots. Her night had once again been ravished by nightmares, but it was alright – it was OK because they weren't real anymore. When she saw Harry's broken face pleading up at her to stop the pain it wasn't real anymore. Not like it had been a week ago.

The other girls roused themselves later, not saying much to each other except quiet 'good morning's. Together the six of them headed down to breakfast, conversation slowly creeping up on them in a familiar way.

'So, Ginny,' Katrina, a petite, mousy-brown haired girl started. 'What's it like in Egypt?'

'Hot,' Ginny replied. 'Especially when you get friendly with the dragons,' she added quietly, thinking of the trips she'd had when she went to see her older brother.

'You're friends with dragons?'

Ginny chuckled at this, determined not to be pulled down into misery with old memories. 'Well, 'friends' is pushing it a bit, but we lived quite close to a small colony and they accepted our presence as we did theirs. They just got a little over-excited sometimes and accidentally almost burned the village down.' This story was true – there was indeed a village that fairly peacefully coexisted with dragons – Ginny had simply never been there.

The other girls accepted this and conversation soon turned to lighter topics – such as what they'd be having for breakfast. Ginny grinned along with them, pleasantly surprised when Eileen looped an arm through hers, a clear offering of friendship. As the six girls walked into the Hall every eye turned to them, though heads soon turned away.

'I love the fact everyone still notices our grand entrances, even after over five years here,' Yuna said, her English accent sounding slightly awkward coming from her dark, almost black, skin. 'I mean, I know we're perfect, but still.'

The other girls smirked at her comment and they headed to the Slytherin table, Eileen's arm in Ginny's stopping her slight falter when she headed to the 'wrong' side of the hall. Settling into the same place as the night before Ginny helped herself to food, with a cheery good morning to the sixth year boys, all of whom had already arrived. She could feel Riddle's gaze boring into her as she ate and talked, but ignored it for the most part, only sparing him a glance or two throughout the meal.

The post arrived later than what Ginny was used to, but when Dumbledore handed her her new timetable Ginny saw that the first lesson started later than it did in the future. She also couldn't help but notice that she and Riddle were the only Slytherins not to receive something in the post.

A dignified little snort coming from next to her, caused Ginny to glance at Theodore in curiosity, but he only waved a hand vaguely and set the newspaper in front of her.

**LATE ARRIVAL  
****For the first time in two centuries Hogwarts has accepted a student not only halfway through the year, but also halfway through the training.  
****Ginevra Craigson, aged 16, joined Slytherin sixth years last night after an impromptu Sorting Ceremony.**

Ginny rolled her eyes and passed the paper back, not bothering to read anymore. 'Honestly, the ministry is corrupt, a raid on a muggle club left fifteen dead, including one of our own, and what do they put on the front page? A _sixteen_ year old Hogwarts student.'

'Why the emphasis on your age?' Yuna's twin brother, Matisse, asked.

'No reason,' Ginny said, averting her eyes as she realised her slip up. She was actually 17, and should by rights be in seventh year, but Ginny had been placed in sixth year at her own request.

Eileen seemed to notice Ginny's sudden moroseness and rubbed her shoulder sympathetically. 'What happened? she asked.

'I don't – I'd prefer not to say,' Ginny said, raising her head slowly.

'Of course, I'm sorry.'

'No, it's not your fault.' At that Ginny looked directly into Riddle's eyes. It wasn't Eileen's fault, it was his fault.

Riddle only stared stoically back at her.

'So what lessons do you have – what are you taking?' Eileen asked, clearly trying to change the subject.

'Nothing exciting, Charms, Transfiguration, Defence, Potions and, uh, a couple of private lessons.' Her words caused several eyebrows to shoot up and Ginny knew what they were thinking. They thought that she needed extra lessons to catch up on the work of the others. Little did they know that these extra classes were so that she didn't become bored covering the lessons she'd already taken last year.

'Don't worry, Ginny, I'll help you,' Georgia piped up, her square glasses sliding down her nose before she pushed them back up.

'Careful, Wright,' Riddle spoke up, still staring at Ginny. 'Craigson here may be helping you later this year instead.'

Georgia's mouth formed a small 'o' as she and the other Slytherins realised the implications of Riddle's words. Ginny smirked complacently at them for a moment as Georgia asked the question everyone seemed to want to, 'are you taking advanced classes?'

Ginny contemplated for a moment before telling them, 'this past term that you've all been snug at Hogwarts I've not exactly been curled up asleep.' And that was all she would say on the topic, despite further questions.

As breakfast ended and the hall started to lose its students Riddle once again spoke directly to Ginny. 'What do you have first?'

'Charms,' she replied shortly.

'Let me show you the way.'

Ginny inclined her head and allowed Riddle to lead her through corridors she probably knew better than he. The trip was short and wordless and the tension between the two of them was palpable. Just before they arrived at the Charms classroom Riddle pushed Ginny suddenly into an alcove, trapping her between the wall and himself.

'Who are you Ginevra _Craigson_?' he whispered forcefully in her ear.

'Who are _you_, Tom Riddle?' she replied with power to match his.

He said nothing, but his mind crushed against hers, trying to break down the walls that she had spent so long building. But Ginny rose up to meet him, attacking him as he attacked her. The thing was, Riddle had no real practise and Ginny – well, Ginny had been dating the Boy-Who-Lived, whose mental barriers had defended off Voldemort at the height of his supremacy.

Ginny found herself hurtling into one of Riddle's memories – it was at the orphanage and he only looked a couple of years younger than he was now, so it must have been over the summer holidays. Riddle was curled up in a tiny room, rocking slowly back and forth as the tears ran down his cheeks and blood ran down his back.

Wrenching herself back Ginny looked up into the horrified eyes of Tom Riddle – his cool façade and flawless mask momentarily forgotten.

'Who _are_ you?' he asked again, his voice slightly hoarse.

Ginny found herself drawn to this tall, handsome young man as she had been in her first year at Hogwarts with his damnable diary. She had to remind herself that Hagrid was still at the school, which meant that it had not been written yet – the Chamber of Secrets had not yet been opened. Her hand shook slightly as she raised it to his face, as if to cup his cheek, though they did not touch.

'Very much lost and alone,' she said, then dropped her hand, fingers lightly grazing his jaw bone. She felt a shot of electricity run up her arm, but chose to ignore it in favour of moving past him and entering the Charms classroom.

Riddle span round in time to see the door close behind her, his mind flickering furiously from thought to thought as he tried to fathom just who exactly this girl was, for she was a better leglimens than himself and that scared him. There were memories and thoughts and knowledge that were too dangerous to fall in to enemy hands. That memory she had seen… Riddle shuddered as he imagined what she might tell others. There was nothing he could do, for she was sure to want to know more now. But maybe…

A wicked grin played across Riddle's lips before his mask fell back in place and he stalked through the corridors to his lesson.

* * *

Ginny gazed at the teacher, incredulity written across her face.

'You want me to prove I can do a successful _cheering_ charm,' she said.

'Yes, Miss Craigson,' the teacher said through thinning lips as she narrowed her eyes.

Ginny rolled her eyes and flicked her wand in the direction of her partner, a Ravenclaw boy who had a stutter so pronounced Ginny hadn't been able to tell what his name was – Sam, or Simon or something. The boy slowly grinned, then chuckled and before long he was laughing hysterically, tears of mirth rolling down his cheeks as he tried to remain upright.

The teacher watched noiselessly before awarding Slytherin five house points.

'Aw what? All she did was a stupid cheering charm!' a Gryffindor complained.

'I am well aware of that fact, Mr Thompson, but it may well have escaped your notice that she did it silently. This is a skill that many wizards and witches never learn to do properly and is not part of the curriculum until –'

Ginny zoned out. Who cared? She was well aware that silent magic was something that many did not achieve, but Ginny was more actively interested in trying to perform wandless magic. So far she'd managed to levitate a gnut about a centimetre, but that was the best she could do and only for a couple of seconds.

After lessons she was met by Francis Parry, who also took charms that lesson.

'So can you do wandless as well?' he asked with no introduction.

'Do you have any change?' Ginny said, seemingly out of the blue.

Francis frowned before pulling a galleon out of his pocket and placed it on his palm.

Ginny contemplated for a moment. On the one hand a galleon was larger and heavier, but on the other the last time she had tried was about half a year ago. Silently she concentrated on the coin. It quivered a second before spinning out of Francis' hand and flying through the air as Ginny caught it gracefully and stuck it in her pocket. 'Thanks,' she said, grinning.

'That was – I mean – wow,' Francis finally managed to get out. 'But I'd like my money back.'

Ginny sniggered, putting the coin away in her robes. 'No way. That's about the best I can do so far, but I haven't been able to practise for a while.'

Francis shook his head. 'Tom was right about you.'

Her head snapped round to look at Francis in surprise. 'What did he say?' she asked, trying desperately to keep her voice calm.

He looked at her curiosly for a moment before answering, 'he just said you were different.'

'We're all different, Parry. Nature made every single one of us unique,' Ginny replied with a wave of her hand.

'Ironic, isn't it?' he agreed. 'And, please, call me Francis.'

Ginny nodded and they walked in silence to Defence. Francis seemed to want to say something, but by the time he decided to say it Riddle had appeared and he promptly shut his mouth.

'It was nice talking to you, Ginny,' he said politely, nodded once to Riddle, then set off in the opposite direction.

'Miss Craigson,' Riddle greeted.

'Mr Riddle.'

'So, tell me, are you an animagus as well as a leglimens?' Riddle asked conversationally, though his voice was dripping with venom.

'No,' Ginny replied calmly, propping herself against the wall and half closing her eyes lazily. 'But then, neither are you,' she pointed out.

'How would you know that?'

'Because otherwise you wouldn't have asked,' Ginny answered confidently.

Riddle merely raised an eyebrow at her.

'You feel threatened by the fact that I could, if I wanted to, step inside your mind and take what I like.'

Riddle did not respond, just continued to watch her through slightly narrowed, bright blue eyes.

'I suppose,' Ginny said tiredly, 'that you want me to promise never to read your thoughts again.'

'But you're not going to.'

'It's nice to know other people's secrets,' she said simply.

'You want to blackmail me?'

'Oh, I could if I wanted, but what's the point?' Ginny opened her eyes then and looked directly into Riddle's. 'What could you possibly tell me that I can't find out for myself?' she asked, tugging at the corners of his mind, not really looking or attacking, just teasing.

His face did not change, but his eyes gleamed with some unidentifiable emotion that had Ginny grinning smugly at him. Together the two of them walked into the Defence classroom and slipped into their chairs at the very centre of the class, every movement in synchronisation, whether they noticed or not.

'Welcome, class,' the professor spoke up, causing the class to fall quiet. 'As most of you know, we were working on the Patronus charm at the end of last term – have you all been practising?'

A murmured 'yes' swung about the class and Ginny glanced sideways to notice with surprise that Riddle had a deep set frown in place. 'What form does yours take?' she asked in the moment of noise.

Riddle glanced sideways at her, his eyes shooting knives. That was when Ginny understood. Riddle couldn't cast the Patronus because he had no happy memory he could use as a base. Ginny did a one shouldered shrug and placed her hand in the air as the professor asked who could cast a full bodied Patronus.

'Ah, Miss Craigson. Perhaps you would like to demonstrate for us?'

'Certainly, Professor.' Ginny stood and sent her mind spinning back to that one perfect night with Harry. Then, with a noiseless flick of her wand her Patronus burst forth. Ginny's face was immaculate, despite her inner turmoil as, rather than a horse, a phoenix burst forth from her wand. She knew what it meant, of course. A phoenix – the rebirth of hope. Something in her trembled and broke as she watched it soar above the heads of her classmates, but another part of her filled with unequivocal joy. If there was such a thing as fate and signs, this was it. She stretched out an arm for it to land on and as soon as it touched her the Phoenix dissipated, leaving only memories and a classroom full of awed and impressed faces.

Ginny smirked at the teacher, who congratulated her.

'Forgive me for asking – what memory did you use?'

Ginny sat down heavily and looked up sadly. 'The last night before everything ended,' she said truthfully and would say no more.

'How can you do that?' Riddle hissed at her as the Professor set them to their task.

'I've known a lot of grief, Riddle, but that grief hurts all the more because it was punctuated and remembered by the times of normality and hope.'

'Grief?' he asked incredulously. 'What do you know of grief?'

In her mind's eye Ginny saw exactly, with precise details, Harry's face craning up to her and his cracked lips whispering to her – _They'll finish me tomorrow, love._ Then the image was gone. It lasted less than a second, but it did not escape Riddle's notice, the shadow that swept across Ginny's face and the unadulterated pain and suffering in her eyes in that moment. 'One day I'll show you,' she said, a small smile hovering for a moment, then disappearing.

Ginny took a long, sweeping glance of the room and almost laughed aloud at their pitiful attempts at Patronuses. And she had mastered this spell in her fourth year. 'Riddle,' she said suddenly. 'Try it.'

Riddle rolled his eyes, but concentrated and muttered the spell, causing a weak white mist to appear at the tip of his wand before it disappeared. 'It's the best I can do,' he drawled, falling back into sarcasm as a protection method.

'What's the thing you hold in most esteem in your life?' Ginny asked him bluntly, her question asking for emotions, but her tone leaving no room for excuses.

'Power,' Riddle answered smoothly, never missing a beat, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

'At what point have you felt the most powerful?' Ginny questioned him, throwing up a hand as he opened his mouth to reply. 'No! I don't want to know when or what it was.' she looked at him in disgust. 'Come here,' she ordered and he stood slowly, moving around the desk.

Ginny stood behind him, her body not quite touching his, then moved her hand to grip his wand wrist. 'Hold that memory in the forefront of your mind. That sense of glory, superiority… now,' Ginny's voice quietened to a whisper, 'say it.'

The words fell from his lips as Ginny stepped forward so she was flush against him, her hand directing his as he flicked it and a bright white Patronus sprang forward. They stood and watched as the dragon rampaged forward across the classroom, knocking desks aside with ease and sending the students running.

Ginny sighed, releasing a long, slow breath across Riddle's shoulder, sending a shudder down his spine. Then she stepped away, leaving his back and wrist feeling awfully cold. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her raise her wand too, until suddenly his dragon was joined by her phoenix, tempting it, pushing it, teasing it, scolding it, rewarding it until the dragon abandoned its quest of the students and joined the fire bird in its dance of the air currents.

It seemed _right_ that the dragon would return to Ginny and offer its gratitude before returning to its master – as right, perhaps, as that of the journey of the phoenix first to Riddle, then Ginny.

Riddle watched the display with fascinated amusement, for a while his mask lay forgotten as he watched a piece of his happiness dance with a piece of hers. Then it slipped easily back in place before any but Ginny noticed it was gone.

'Thank you,' he said coolly.

Ginny's face remained impassive, but her chocolate eyes swirled with delighted satisfaction – not at his thanks, but because he had been able to do it. _He_, the man who had killed thousands, he who had murdered and molested because he felt like it, he who would be given the title 'The Dark Lord', had been able to successfully pull of a charm that relied solely on the pure righteousness of a situation. But no, not some unnameable _he_. Just Riddle. Just Riddle, the orphan boy had cast his first full bodied Patronus.

'You're welcome,' she replied.

Then the two of them moved in that instinctive synchronisation they shared and sank, together, into their separate chairs, each regarding the havoc the classroom had become with cool detachment. Maybe they were thinking and feeling the same thing, but from their impassive faces it was impossible to tell. An impossible that suddenly seemed, in that tiny, slither of a moment, entirely possible.

* * *

They made an impressive pair, the red haired girl and the blue eyed boy. She was considerably shorter than he was, but somehow their strides matched – their every movement matched. When he blinked, in the exact same moment, so did she. When she breathed so did he. They walked together to the Dungeons and, for the first time in anyone's memory Riddle took a partner in Potions.

Ginny was unaware of this fact but still sat pensively, forgetting for a moment that the foreboding Professor Severus Snape would not be born for another ten years, let alone teach. She had never been amazing at Potions, but perhaps with a little better tutelage…

'I'm preparing to be impressed,' Riddle hummed into her ear as the class waited in whispered quiet for the teacher to arrive.

Ginny half turned her head towards him, a slight frown marring her forehead. 'Potions is my worst subject,' she informed him quietly, instantly wondering the wisdom of her words – perhaps it would be better for him not to know her weaknesses?

But Riddle did not show any emotion at her declaration, merely staring at the door that now opened to reveal a younger, thinner, more handsome Professor Slughorn. Ginny watched him with slightly raised eyebrows – her only show of surprise. In the back of her mind it scared Ginny how easily she had slipped into Riddle's approval, how easily she had forged her own Slytherin mask to slip into place whenever needed. But another part new that really she'd already had the mask – that it had been in the making for years, since the moment she had met Riddle in the diary – and it was only now that she was putting it in place.

Draught of the Living Death. Working individually. Ginny sighed and flipped the book shut. How many times over the past years did she have to make this potion to save someone from near death? It was impossible to know. But it stopped everything and it had saved so many people from bleeding to death before the necessary help could get there. Ginny was no healer, but she knew how to save people.

Everyone had believed that Snape was a traitor, but his book had revealed so many little helps and tricks that, despite Hermione's annoyance, Harry had taught Ginny from that book. Ron had laughed and distracted Hermione with a kiss or a promise and Ginny and Harry had laughed together, sharing sweet kisses over the cauldron as they worked together to perfect whatever potion it was.

Ginny worked in sombre silence, ignoring the cold presence of Riddle at her elbow. Stir twice clockwise, add the Amazonian bluebottle juice, stir once anti-clockwise and throw in a dash of grey salt to counteract the powdered dragon tooth that Riddle tried to sabotage it with. Ginny said nothing, working in silence as she relived all those precious little moments that meant nothing, but so, so much. She did not cry, did not pause from her work until Riddle slipped bloomslang skin into the potion. Not missing a beat Ginny through in the neutralisation before turning to Riddle in fury.

'Do you have any idea the kind of shit that could have done?'

Riddle gazed blankly back at her.

'If I hadn't moved quickly the potion wouldn't have just _fizzed_ a bit, it would have imploded with search a force it would have sucked every single person this room into the singularity, before exploding to leave nothing but stone walls and lots of _dust_,' Ginny snarled at him, her voice echoing into the sudden silence of the room.

'Well then it's a good thing you acted quickly, isn't it?' he replied with a smug question, a self-righteous smirk gracing his features.

Not quite understanding what came over her Ginny punched him in the mouth, revelling in the way he span backwards from her and slammed against the desk.

'You little bitch.' He jumped up, wand appearing in his hand.

Ginny didn't move. For a moment the class though perhaps he had put her in a body bind curse, but a very slow smile spread itself across her face. 'Are you going to hex me, Tom?' she asked him, using his first name for the first time. 'Are you going to give me the brunt of your anger and leave me in the hospital wing for weeks? Or perhaps you're going to forego the injuries and simply _kill_ me?' She spoke in honeyed tones inlaid with poison. 'But no. I don't think you're going to do anything. I've stared death in the face, Tom, and I'm not looking at him now.'

The class watched in trepidation at the new girl calmly staring down the wand of someone whose temper was infamous and had just exploded in her direction. Perhaps she was brave. Perhaps she was just foolish. It didn't cross anyone's mind until much later what a Gryffindor the Slytherin had been.

But for now Riddle slowly lowered his wand and let out a true, full hearted laugh. The sound was odd coming from Riddle's lips, as though he'd never laughed properly before.

'You, Miss Ginevra Craigson, are something else,' Riddle said softly just as the door banged open from the supply cupboard and the Professor bounded back in.

'Now what's going on here?' he asked warily at the silence and grim expressions.

Riddle shot Ginny a side long look and they both, at the same moment with the same too-innocent smiles, said, 'nothing, sir.'

Slughorn regarded them through narrowed eyes, but let the moment pass with an order to the students to bottle their samples and put them on his desk. Ginny added one last ingredient and let the potion simmer for a moment as she packed up before bottling it and giving it to the teacher.

'I'm impressed, Miss Craigson,' Slughorn stopped her before she moved away.

'Why sir?'

'Though there is no proof of the matter, Riddle manages normally to sabotage every potion close to him. For you to survive the lesson with a perfect sample…' he trailed off, shaking his head.

'I've used this potion a lot in recent years,' was all Ginny offered as an explanation.

'You know a lot about poisons?' Riddle asked, placing his sample on the desk and introducing himself to the conversation.

'The Draught isn't a poison,' Ginny told him calmly. 'More often than not this potion is used to save lives than take them.'

Slughorn gave Ginny a curious look, but Riddle merely smirked at her. Tired of the wordless conversation passing between them Ginny turned away and cleaned up the rest of her things, before leaving the room. As the door swung shut behind her Riddle turned back to face his teacher.

'Professor, I've been meaning to ask you about something.'

* * *

Ginny walked into the Great Hall and sat down between Theodore and Katrina, staring at the empty space opposite her.

'So how has your first day been so far?' Eileen asked.

'Reasonable. Charms and Defence was easy enough, but Riddle was being a right git in Potions just now.'

'Oh, Riddle's always a git in potions,' Georgia piped up in the horrible nasal way of hers.

Ginny didn't bother to pose a question, the girl was obviously keen to share her knowledge.

'It's his worst subject, so he spends the whole lesson slipping the wrong ingredients into other people's cauldrons. He's still way better than average, just not the best in the year.'

'Why, who's the best?' Ginny asked curiously.

Eileen Prince smiled smugly and brought her goblet to her lips in an attempt to hide it. Ginny laughed out loud at that – she should have guessed! Snape had become one of the youngest teachers in decades and he had to have learnt it from someone – and it was definitely not Slughorn. Ginny shuddered as she remembered the 'Slug Club' and prayed that she wouldn't be invited this year.

'But there's a price – I have to go to a horrendous club of Slughorn's.' Eileen echoed Ginny's shudder.

Matisse, who was sat next to Eileen, offered her a sympathetic slap on the shouder as the other Slytherins sniggered into their food. Ginny glanced up as Slughorn entered the hall and made his way up to the teachers' table, followed soon after by Riddle.

'Get what you want?' Ginny asked him.

Riddle sat down opposite her and regarded her with a guarded expression for a long moment before answering with a simple, blunt, 'no.'

Ginny shrugged and smirked. 'I'm sure there are others with the knowledge you're after,' she said.

'How do you know it's knowledge I'm after?'

'There are only two things someone might want from Slughorn that you can't steal. One's knowledge. The other's sex,' Ginny replied wryly. 'And considering he smells of at least two different types of perfume, I'm guessing he's straight. Not that that would stop you, if you really wanted it, but I'm guessing you're heterosexual too.'

'Why, do I also smell of perfume?'

'No, but I'm sitting next to one of the fittest guys in school–'

'Thanks,' Theodore inserted.

'–no problem, and you've spent the entire conversation staring at me, not checking him out.'

'We've been going to school together for five years and share a dormitory, what's to say I don't 'check him out' in private?' Riddle asked, clearly very amused by the conversation.

'Tom Marvolo Riddle, have you ever – either consciously or unconsciously – looked at another guy and felt the need to take that individual into the nearest alcove and have your wicked way with him?'

'No, but–'

'Have you ever felt the need to shove him into an alcove at all?'

'No…'

'Then my point, Riddle, is proven. You're straight. Now that we're over that pointless discussion, I'll tell you again, that whatever knowledge you're after can surely be found elsewhere.'

Riddle stared at Ginny for a moment longer, before standing abruptly and leaving the room.

'Ooh, you've pissed him off no end,' Katrina said, giving Ginny a friendly elbow in the ribs.

Ginny started digging into her meal. 'About time someone won an argument against him,' was all she said.

'Why did he want to prove he wasn't straight anyway,' Theodore asked from Ginny's other side.

Ginny didn't answer, knowing full well that Riddle had been trying to distract her from the fact that he had been trying to get some kind of knowledge out of Slughorn. Upon his realisation that Ginny could not be so easily put off he had left. He had also, of course, wanted to win the argument.

Eileen shook her head and smiled a small, rueful smile. 'Whatever you're doing, Ginny, be warned – Riddle's one scary bastard when you get on his wrong side. If I were you I'd leave well alone.'

Ginny offered her a small smile back, but knew that even if she wasn't trying to do anything and everything to stop Riddle becoming Voldemort she wouldn't have been able to back down now. Just like in her first year she found herself being lured closer and closer to Riddle's spider web of lies and half truths, of secrets and dreams. But this time Ginny was determined to be more than a stupid, bumbling fly. This time she would be another spider and draw him as much to her and her secrets as she was to him. She already knew it was starting to work, but she had to tread very, very carefully. One wrong move and the web would collapse and this time Harry wouldn't be there to save her.

After lunch Ginny had the rest of the day off, so she decided to pay a visit to the Room of Requirement. So far as she knew, no one in this time zone knew of its existence and Ginny needed some time alone to sort out her thoughts. Thinking of the diary made her wonder – when was it dated? The current date was 1943, so if only… if only she could remember. Had Riddle already opened it and killed Myrtle?

Myrtle? Of course! Ginny quickly changed direction and ran for the second floor girl's lavatory. Just as she hurtled around the last corner Ginny saw Riddle emerging from – the bathroom!

Ginny quickly darted back round the corner and ducked into a nearby classroom, casting a quick silencing spell around herself and the door so she could shut it without being heard. This was it. Ginny listened to his footsteps walk slowly towards the door, then pause. For what seemed like an eternity she stood stock still, waiting for him to open the door and accuse her with those hard blue eyes of hers, but he walked on past.

Releasing a long breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding Ginny choked back a sob when she finally took in that this was the year that 'Moaning Myrtle' would die. The year Hagrid would be expelled. The year that Tom Riddle would open the Chamber of Secrets and commit the first of many murders.

* * *

_A/N I realise this is not an original plot, but since I really, really wanted to read a time travelling story where Ginny goes back and stops Voldemort before he even happens and couldn't find a decent one (except for Final Riddles, by Intricacy, which is absolutely amazing, but unfinished) I decided to write my own. It was meant to be a one shot, but when I finished writing this bit and realised it was almost 10 000 words and I hadn't even **begun**, I guess it's going to have to be longer than that. No promises when the next chapter will be up, but I'm sure it won't be long. I don't have a beta for this story, so you'll have to excuse and typos/plot errors etc._

_Hope you all enjoyed it and please leave a review!_

_Cal  
__xxx_


	2. Letting Go

_First of all must go, your scent upon my pillow  
And then I'll say goodbye to your whispers in my dreams.  
And then our lips will part, in my mind and in my heart,  
Cos your kiss went deeper than my skin._

_Piece by piece is how I'll let go of you  
Kiss by kiss will leave my mind one at a time  
One at a time_

_First of all must fly, my dreams of you and I,  
There's no point of holding on to those  
And then our ties will break, for your and my own sake,  
Just remember,  
This is what you chose_

_Piece by piece is how I'll let go of you  
Kiss by kiss will leave my mind one at a time  
One at a time_

_I'll shed like skin, our memories of lazy days,  
And fade away the shadow of your face_

_Piece by piece is how I'll let go of you  
Kiss by kiss will leave my mind one at a time  
One at a time_

_**Disclaimer: Harry Potter ™ belongs to JKR and WB. Song Lyrics (Piece by Piece) ©Katie Melua**_

_**

* * *

**_

2: Letting Go

The next day was a Wednesday. Ginny decided she was going to like Wednesdays from now on. She had spent all of the previous night thinking about everything – about the prophecy, about Harry, about Riddle. It all seemed so impossible. But here she was, trying to save the world from a mad man who, well, hadn't gone mad yet. But there remained the big question: could Ginny stop him from turning into the psychopath he would be remembered for, or would she merely encourage him?

As on the previous day the six Slytherin girls arrived together, making a grand entrance that, as before, turned heads, but this time something that caught Ginny's eye. Though today she did not falter before going to her house table, a too familiar unruly mop of dark black hair at the Gryffindor table distracted her for a moment. But as the person in question turned, revealing dark brown eyes set in a decidedly scar-free face, Ginny's heartbeat decelerated. It must be Harry's paternal Grandfather or something.

For one split second Ginny had allowed herself to believe that Snape had somehow managed to save Harry as well, but then the memories of those raucous cheers infiltrated Ginny's mind and she found herself swept away on a wave of sorrow.

'Ginny? Ginny, are you all right?' a voice asked from beside her, a hand tugging at her sleeve.

Ginny shrugged and tried to ignore the cheers of 'he's dead, he's dead, he's dead,' that played again and again like a stuck record inside her head. She sat slowly, ignoring the concerned glances of her classmates and ate her breakfast, the food tasteless on her tongue as she wished she could forget. It was only when Riddle sank into the bench opposite her that Ginny snapped back to reality.

'What's wrong with Craigson?' Riddle drawled at Katrina.

'I–' Ginny started and stopped again. 'Do you know what's the worst thing in the world, Riddle?' she asked him finally.

'Dying?'

Ginny snorted in response. Death would have been sweet oblivion compared to the torture and slow starvation she and Harry had had to put up with for so long. 'Once you're dead, you're dead. No, the worst thing in the world is watching someone else die before your eyes and knowing that you can do absolutely nothing to stop it.'

'Why should you care if someone else dies?'

Ginny gazed sharply into his grey-blue eyes and drew a long, shaky breath. 'Have you ever listened to the sounds of someone being tortured? Have you ever listened as people cheer on that screaming? Have you ever watched someone slowly loose a little piece of himself day by day? Have you ever been slowly starved to the brink of death, only to be given just enough food to keep you alive?' Ginny stopped and closed her eyes to block out the looks of horror, not from Riddle, but from the others. Riddle couldn't care less. 'I've seen some things that should never have happened. I heard my parents die. I watched my best friends being murdered before my eyes. And that isn't even the worst of it.' Ginny's eyes opened and looked directly into his. Riddle found himself inexplicably drawn into those hypnotising pools of dark chocolate, beckoning him to fall a little deeper until there was no escape.

Then Ginny blinked and she gazed about the table. The looks of worry and apprehension on the faces of the people looking at her touched her heart. Despite all of Slytherin's failings it was, really, very similar to the Gryffindor house. Sure, there was more individualism, but there was still a strong sense of collective safety. 'I'm sorry,' Ginny muttered, though they all heard it. 'I shouldn't have said anything.' The next second Ginny was up and out of the Great Hall, leaving a small bubble of quiet behind her.

'Well that has put a damper on the day,' Theodore said, pushing his plate away.

'Yeah, Tom, couldn't have kept your questions until later?' Katrina said, also pushing her plate away.

Eileen shook her head and stared after Ginny. 'Poor girl. I can't even imagine what it would be like to loose my parents.'

Riddle glared at each of them in turn, until they all shut up again and started nibbling at the edges of bits of toast. He didn't need them to sympathise for Craigson. The girl didn't need their sympathy, she needed to be put in her place – no one got to back chat Tom Riddle and get away with it.

'Tom, no,' Eileen said, recognising the warning signs. Everyone in Riddle's year had experienced one of his specialised 'accidents' when they did something to displease him and, despite Riddle's immaculate Slytherin mask, there were still little ways of being able to tell what he was thinking. When he was planning revenge his right foot would tap lightly on the floor and he would lean forward in his chair, rather than sitting straight or slouching back like he usually was.

'Why not, Prince? What has she done to get your allegiance?'

'Allegiance, Tom? Why would that girl need my allegiance? Look at her! She's a time bomb of emotions that, when it goes off, is going to leave scars on everyone, if she doesn't kill someone.'

'She needs a lesson–'

'She doesn't know, Tom!' Eileen tried to persuade him. 'She's just lost her entire family and probably all of her friends. She's moved half way across a continent and is looking for a bit of peace, let her have it.'

'She can have her peace,' Tom promised, 'but only after she accepts my rules.' And with that he swept out of the Hall after Ginny.

It didn't take him much longer than ten minutes to find Ginny, but that was only down to luck. As Riddle passed an empty classroom he heard her voice coming from inside.

'_No, I'm fine.'_

'_Are you sure?' _The second voice was masculine and painfully familiar. It took Riddle a moment to realise that it was the Head Boy, Harry Potter's voice. _'Because when I looked at you, you turned as white as a sheet.'_

'_I just – you look a lot like someone I used to know.'_

'_Used to know?'_

'_He's dead now.'_

Unable to listen to this trollop for a moment longer Riddle blasted the door open, cold smirk already in place. He was surprised to find the two of them much closer than he had presumed. Instinctively the Slytherins and Gryffindors seemed to keep as far away from each other as possible, but here these two were, leaning side-by-side against the same desk. Ginny was looking very pale and there was a single, silver tear track staining her cheek, but otherwise looked composed.

Potter, on the other hand, looked as though he had been hit by a proverbial train. His naturally tan skin was pale and his face was screwed up with several contrasting emotions – surprise, grief and that overwhelmingly Gryffindor emotion, pity. Upon Riddle's entrance the seventh year looked up, trying and failing to mask his emotions. Ginny just continued to stare at her shoes.

'Hey, Riddle,' she said dispassionately, not needing to look at him to know who it was. 'Look, Potter, what time do you finish lessons today?'

'4.'

'I'll meet you in the library at 4.30 then, is that alright?'

'Yeah, sure.' The boy looked up at Riddle and, upon seeing his furious gaze, offered to stay, 'are you going to be alright, here?' _with him?_ He continued silently, though all three of them heard it.

Ginny nodded. 'I'll be fine. See you later.'

The Head Boy moved across the room, his gaze moving from Riddle to Ginny with concern – surely it wasn't safe to leave them together? But, no, they were both Slytherins, they wouldn't attack each other… would they? He left before he could change his mind.

'A Slytherin befriending a Gryffindor? What has the world come to?' Riddle hissed through his teeth, handsome face distorted in white hot fury.

'What do you want Riddle?' Ginny asked tiredly.

Riddle laughed humourlessly. 'Oh, so now it's about what I want?'

Ginny finally looked at him, her eyes still swirling with that emotion he couldn't put a name to. 'In your self-evolved little world, when _isn't_ it about you?' she demanded of him, her voice sugar-sweet.

'You speak out of line, mudblood.'

At that Ginny laughed out loud, and though it sounded true there was a hysterical edge to it. 'Mudblood? That's low, Riddle, considering your own blood line.' Like someone had flicked a switch Ginny turned completely serious. 'Oh, yes, I know who your father was, lovely muggle guy. Bit of a sadist, of course, but it was hardly his fault your mum was infatuated with him.' Ginny let out a long, low sigh, knowing that she was digging herself deeper and deeper into Tom Riddle's pile of shit that he called family life. 'Poor little Merope Gaunt. From such a long line of pure blooded wizards and witches, she had to fall in love with the one guy who wouldn't have her. And they all thought that Morfin was the black sheep of the family.' Ginny shook her head, smiling mock-sadly at the persona of fury standing before her.

'You know that I haven't had a muggle relation for decades? Oh, yes, I'm no muggle born. There hasn't been a marriage to muggles in my family for decades. Not that I'm that fussed. Some of the smartest, most powerful wizards and witches are 'mudbloods',' Ginny spat the last word at him and then waited for the volcano to erupt.

'How dare you!' he yelled, advancing on her until his nose tip almost brushed hers. 'How fucking dare you! You have no idea what you're talking about!'

'Don't I?' Ginny questioned him quietly. 'If I'm wrong then why are you yelling at me? If I'm wrong, then why are there no other Riddle children running around waving wands?'

'You have no idea the shit I've been through because of that bastard of a father of mine! You've no idea the _humiliation_ I feel every time someone looks at me! _Tom Riddle_,' he sneered. 'You have no idea the horrors of bearing the disgusting name of a disgusting man who doesn't even deserve the title of _father_.'

'So change it,' Ginny said with a shrug.

'What?' he asked, momentarily off-balanced.

'Change your name,' Ginny repeated, ignoring the urge to say it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

'That's beside the point!'

'Is it?' Ginny questioned him, raising an eyebrow daring him to argue with her. 'Your shame is self-inflicted, Riddle. Look at the people who surround you every day, how long is it since one of them teased you about your name? How long is it since anyone dared to say anything against you at all?'

'Five minutes ago, you,' Riddle replied stiffly.

'That was because you called me a mudblood,' Ginny said matter-of-factly. 'You may have the rest of the school quivering in their boots, but never me.'

'Is that a bet?'

'Try me, Riddle. I can hate you, love you, loath you, but never will I fear you. There is only one person I fear and he is far, far away from here.' Although, Ginny's thoughts continued, he is, ironically, also standing in this room. Huh. Funny, that.

'What if I should kill you?' he hissed at her.

Ginny gave a snort of amusement. 'Then I'd be dead, wouldn't I?'

Riddle frowned, but said nothing more.

'Look, if you'll excuse me, I have a lesson,' Ginny said, putting two hands on his chest and pushing him away from her. Riddle actually stumbled back a few steps, shocked by her movement and didn't have time to protest before she was out of the door and away along the corridor, leaving him to try and collect together his thoughts that lay scattered every which way.

Damn, but that girl got on his nerves. If she knew what was good for her she'd do as he said, when he told her to. But, then, maybe that's what made her so intriguing – the fact that she would not bow down to him. Although the other sixth years seemed to have developed s kind of wary immunity to him, Ginny had a fire in her eyes that would be a shame to dampen. Put dampen, if not extinguish it, he must. She could not be allowed to continue to walk around the school like he didn't own it.

* * *

Second lesson was double potions so Ginny and Riddle found themselves having to face each other. Ginny supposed that she could move to a different place, but last lesson she had taken the only free space and she didn't feel like subjecting some other poor soul to Riddle's vindictive nature. Even if it meant she had to put up with it for two hours. Not that she would ever tell Riddle that she was secretly a self-sacrificing Gryffindor.

'Craigson,' Riddle spat at her when she joined the rest of the students waiting outside.

'Riddle,' Ginny replied, relishing the word as he scowled at her.

'If you thought it was bad last lesson, just wait until I get my hands on the potion this lesson,' Riddle hissed in her ear as she swept past him into the room as Slughorn arrived.

'Class!' Slughorn started, once everyone had settled down into their seats. 'I have marked your potions and will give them back along with your marks, if you'd like to collect them in silence.'

One by one the students received their potions, Eileen giving Ginny a sympathetic half shrug as she passed, not daring any more due to the thunderous look on Riddle's face.

'Riddle, Tom,' Slughorn called and Riddle went up to collect his mark. On a purely evil and malicious whim Ginny slipped her wand out and pointed it at Riddle's stool, casting the spell silently. She pushed her wand back up her sleeve then turned to look over her shoulder to see two Gryffindors staring at her open mouthed. She copied them and pushed her chin back in place. They took the hint and shut their mouths, grinning wildly. Ginny threw a wink at them before turning back round and smiling pleasantly to Riddle, who was scowling at the exchange.

'What did you tell them?' he spat at her under his breath.

'Nothing,' Ginny replied truthfully and waited with bated breath for Riddle to sit down.

She was not to be disappointed. Riddle tried to sit down on the chair and it collapsed beneath him. He gave a yell as he fell, so the entire class got a prize sight of Tom Riddle, Hogwart's Bully, landing on his arse.

'You!' he shouted to Ginny, hauling himself off the floor. 'You cast the damn spell and you two,' he continued, whirling round to face the two Gryffindors who sat behind them. They went from laughing to terrified in under a second. 'You knew and didn't say anything!' he shouted, his own wand suddenly raised, despite Slughorn's presence in the classroom.

Ginny was watching him yell in amusement, but decided to step in before anyone got hurt. 'Of course they didn't tell you,' she said.

Riddle didn't say anything, merely turned his fiery gaze on her.

She returned his gaze with cool detachment, spinning her wand in her fingers. 'If I'd hexed their chairs, would you have told them? I think not. Although they probably wouldn't feel tempted to murder you because of it.'

'So you admit you did it?' Riddle said with barely masked incredulity.

Ginny smirked at him. 'Yes.' She turned to the rest of the class, 'and I'm damn proud of it.' She got a few cheers and someone wolf whistled, though the noise died down when Riddle shot the class a Medusa glare. 'When was the last time someone pranked you, Tom? When was the last time someone dared to try your wrath?' Ginny said in a pleasantly off-hand voice coated in poison.

'That is enough!' Slughorn roared, finally stepping in. 'Ten points from Slytherin each and both of you will serve detention here at 8pm tonight.'

'Yes, Professor,' Ginny said chirpily as though she had been rewarded rather than punished. Riddle simply fixed his chair and sat down on it, arms crossed and glared at the desk.

'Working in pairs you have two hours to create veritaserum. The instructions are on the board,' Slughorn announced.

Riddle didn't move as Ginny sprang up and collected the things they needed. Veritaserum was another thing she and Harry had worked on and although they hadn't spent nearly as long on it Ginny was confident that she'd be able to make it. She whistled as she worked, pointless, silly songs that had no real meaning and no real melody.

'You sound like a loon,' Riddle injected sullenly, twenty minutes into the lesson. He still had not moved, not to help, or to sabotage.

'_You sound like a loon, Gin!' Harry laughed, giving her a friendly elbow in the ribs and chucking in the sliced birch bark, causing the potion to give off a large, yellow belch of gas. He coughed and choked on the gas, trying to wave it away. 'God that stuff stinks,' he squeaked, his voice sounding like he'd swallowed a balloonful of helium._

_Ginny laughed aloud. 'Now who sounds like a loon?' she teased, ducking as he tried to whack her lightly upside the head._

'It wasn't meant to end,' Ginny murmured under her breath, her grin dissolving along with the memory that had cut through her mind clear as glass.

Riddle's head snapped up and he gazed intently at Ginny, whose emotionless mask had slipped back into place with ease. But, even as she tried to hide behind the obnoxious yellow gas the potion was now giving off, it did not escape his notice that a single, silver tear trickled down her face. Ginny managed to swipe it away in a movement to tuck her hair behind her ears, but it had been there. Riddle wondered what it was he'd said.

'What wasn't meant to end?' Riddle questioned.

Ginny looked up dully, her eyes flat and dispassionate. 'Happiness,' she said in a monotone, before turning back to her work.

It took him a moment to realise that the anger he held for Ginny had fizzled out to a minor ache in the back of his skull and that, on some indeterminable level, Riddle was scared of Ginny. When she was happy and teasing and wickedly childish he could hate her. When she was smirking and irritating and sarcastically stoic he could admire her. When she was completely emotionless, no need for a mask for there was no emotion – nothing – to hide, Riddle found that – loathe as he was to admit it, even to himself – he feared her. When someone could reach that level of transcendence from everything there was nothing they could not do. Nothing they could not withstand.

Ginny moved silently, now, the cheerful whistling lost. Her mind was a thunderous whirlwind of memories of a time that seemed so, so long ago. In reality it was only a couple of months, but the happiness she had found there was gone. Ginny missed them. She missed Hermione's knowledge and Ron's stubbornness. She missed the twins' pranks and her family's cheerful, happy-go-lucky ways. She missed her bustling mum and her muggle-admiring dad. She missed Luna and Neville and even Dean.

But most of all Ginny missed the famous Harry Potter – boy-who-lived, Gryffindor Golden Boy, leader of the Golden trio – but, to her, always and just Harry. Just Harry, who had broken things off because he loved her too much. Just Harry, whose kisses had sent Ginny into a whole other world. Just Harry, her personal knight in shining armour, even when they had just come of the quidditch pitch covered in mud and soaked to the skin. Just Harry, who had touched her and caressed her and loved her more than she had ever deserved. Just Harry. Her Harry.

At some point during the lesson Riddle started helping. Ginny wasn't really paying attention, but she felt glad for it. For a moment it didn't matter who Riddle was to become, it was simply nice to have someone who wouldn't ask her questions or try to cheer her up. Ginny needed to wallow for a bit.

Slughorn was very different from Snape and so the couples working around them could chat quietly during the exercise without the fear of being punished. However, there was a bubble of silence that was not caused by a charm that hung around Riddle and Ginny's desk. She didn't want words. He couldn't find them. There was still a stifling tension between them and Ginny had to slap Riddle's wrists more than once to stop him from adding the wrong ingredients, not from her potion – for it was his work as well and he wouldn't jeopardise it – but from the potions of the couples around them.

By the time the end of the lesson rolled around all the potions were perfect, except for those corrupted by their own makers and Ginny was starting to rouse herself from the cavity within herself that she had withdrawn to. Looking at the potions Ginny allowed herself a smug little smirk as she realised that she had stopped Riddle doing his usual dirty trick. Though she couldn't be sure, Ginny could have sworn that Riddle let out a sigh of relief – though for what reason she could not fathom.

'I'm impressed, Riddle,' Ginny said as they packed up their things, breaking the self-imposed silence.

'Oh?' was his only response.

'Yeah, you didn't muck up anyone's potion.'

This time Riddle didn't even reply, merely giving a tiny, dignified yet disgusted sniff that said more than any words could have done. Ginny smirked at him and they left the dungeons together, dumping their bags in the common room before walking up to the Great Hall for lunch.

'You know, you're a very odd person, Tom Riddle,' Ginny remarked quietly as they slipped out from behind the gargoyle that guarded the Slytherin common room.

'How do you mean?' he enquired, his voice carefully guarded.

'You have a temper that could probably destroy the world–' that _would_ destroy the world, if Ginny didn't change anything '–yet, really, you're quite an empathetic person.'

'Not just pathetic, in your opinion?' he asked, his voice suddenly lighter as he realised what she was trying to say.

'Tom Riddle, did you just crack a joke?' Ginny teased him in mock-horror.

'I believe I did,' he replied in a deadpan tone. 'But you were saying…?'

'Yeah, right. Well, I guess I want to say thank you, back there.'

'For what?' Riddle asked in genuine ignorance.

'For just accepting,' she whispered, her voice suddenly having trouble escaping her lungs. 'I mean, I know that you probably think that I should get over it and move on and stop being such a cry baby, but it's good to be able to think things over without constantly being told to cheer up or being asked what's wrong.' Ginny's voice suddenly became sour. 'Everything will be better tomorrow. At least you're still alive. What the fuck is with the long face?' Ginny shuddered, tone now strained and full of unspoken pain. 'If they only knew… I'd gladly swap my memory for theirs. So, thank you for not asking. Thank you for not saying that everything's going to be OK, because, you know what? I really don't think it will be.'

What was she doing? What was she _thinking_? She was telling Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort in the making, that she thought her life was fucked up and that it was all going to go wrong. What was it about Riddle that made her open up to him six years ago – that still made her open up to him?

'Sorry,' Ginny muttered, bowing her head.

Riddle stopped and placed a hand on Ginny's shoulder, stopping her and turning her towards him in the same movement. She looked up at him with sorrowful, pleading, huge chestnut brown eyes that begged him not to tease her, not to scorn her. If only she knew that he couldn't tease her – not this girl of fire who could show her weaknesses with as much pride as she could show her strengths.

'Don't be,' he finally murmured. 'Because it won't all be better tomorrow. Maybe in a year or so, but not tomorrow. And it's alright to be afraid of that.'

Ginny felt his touch run through her like electricity, even though there were layers of cloth between his hand and her shoulder. Looking into his blue eyes that suddenly seemed to be full of unspoken compassion Ginny couldn't help but feel confused. Was this the same Riddle who teased others mercilessly? Was he seriously telling her it was OK to be scared? Because she was. Ginny was absolutely terrified of getting it wrong and mucking up. She was all too aware that the fate of the world had been laid across her shoulders and no one truly knew. Yet he, _he, Riddle_, was offering comfort.

His hand squeezed her shoulder and his thumb brushed lightly against the bare skin of her neck, just above her shirt collar, and the look between them intensified. Then his hand dropped and both of them replaced their masks of stoic detachment as they turned as one and continued through the hallways, unaware that their stride matched perfectly and their movements echoed each other.

As they strode into the Great Hall it seemed as though the entire Slytherin table turned to face them. Riddle and Ginny exchanged a look and a smirk before walking, one down each side of the table and sat opposite each other.

'Wow,' Matisse and Yuna breathed out at the same moment.

The other sixth years nodded in agreement as Theodore took to poking Ginny.

_Poke._

Ginny helped herself to a thin slice of the cold meat, ignoring her classmates' blatant stares and poring out a glass of fresh lemonade.

_Poke._

'Lemonade?' she asked Riddle politely.

'Please.' He too was helping himself to lunch, oblivious to the silent questions literally pouring from the other Slytherins' eyes.

_Poke._

Ginny set down the lemonade jug and buttered two slices of the granary bread, covering them with mayonnaise, some of the leaves of rocket and cabbage and the slice of meat before pressing them together. She held it up to her mouth to take a huge bite when…

_Poke._

Finally she lost her temper. Dropping her sandwich back on the plate Ginny grabbed Theodore's finger and bent it in a direction it really did not want to go. 'What,' she hissed in a dangerously low voice, 'is your problem? Here I am, trying to have my lunch like a normal person, when you keep fucking _poking_ me!'

'But you're alive,' Theodore said plaintively as Riddle sniggered into his food.

Ginny blinked. 'Alive? Of course I'm alive! It's not like giant killer snakes have invaded the school and eaten me or something.'

The reference to Slytherin's basilisk was lost on all of the students except for Riddle, whose smirk vanished immediately, though Ginny could almost see him trying to convince himself that it was merely coincidence.

'Will you please let go of my finger?' Theodore whimpered, his voice higher-pitched than usual and his eyes starting to look decidedly glassy.

'Oh right, yeah,' Ginny said unapologetically, letting him go. 'Um, seriously though, why would I be dead?'

'Eileen smirked. 'You only pissed off his royal highness, Tom Marvolo Riddle, by back chatting him this morning. And, at a guess, hexing him so that he fell on his arse probably didn't help matters.'

Ginny's eyes widened and her mouth formed a small, perfect circle, before she sniggered softly. 'His royal highness, oh I like that.'

The rest of the table, however, seemed caught up in the fact that Ginny had hexed Tom rather than the other way around. The looks of astonishment warmed the cockles of Ginny's prankster heart as well as sending her a warning, high and clear that she had come very, very close to losing everything that morning. But, really, she knew that already.

'You–' Katrina started and stopped, choking on uncertain laughter. '–you hexed _Tom_?'

'No, I didn't hex him,' Ginny dismissed with a wave of her hand, before a mischievous glint stole into her eye, hidden by her bland expression. 'I hexed his chair so it broke when he tried to sit on it.'

This didn't seem to improve matters. It seemed that the entire Slytherin table, and some of the Ravenclaw table who had overheard were trying to picture Tom Riddle being made a fool of. Those who had been there quickly began retelling the incident and it spread faster than lightning until the entire hall was talking of Riddle's humiliation.

'Craigson…' Riddle hissed across at her.

'Oops, I'm sorry. It seems the Hogwart's gossip mill is as potent as ever. Give it until the end of lunch and even the teachers and ghosts will be talking about it,' Ginny informed him cheerily, completely unrepentant.

'I think you and I–' he started, but she cut across him.

'Need to have a little talk?' Ginny filled in. 'Alright,' she said with an easy shrug.

Eileen watched them talk with barely concealed amazement. 'Ginny, please tell me you did not just agree to have a 'conversation' with Tom.'

Ginny just looked confused.

'One day,' Eileen said with a rueful smile and shake of her head, 'you are going to push him too far. Then you probably won't ever wake up again.'

Ginny smiled a small, sad smile. 'I have so many people on the other side, Eileen, that I'd probably be just as happy.'

Riddle glared at Ginny at her presumption that he was going to kill her – no, at Eileen's presumption he would one day loose too much of his temper to stop himself from killing her and at Ginny's easy acceptance of that fact. Well hidden beneath various furious shades of anger and self-righteousness there was something much like anxiousness in Riddle's mind. He could only tell it was there if he didn't search for it, but its contrast to his other emotions was giving him a headache. He continued to gaze angrily at Ginny. It was her fault. Stupid, meddling, amazingly intelligent, irritating, spontaneous little Ginny.

The girl in question half turned towards him and, if he didn't know any better, he could have sworn that she caught the tail end of his thoughts, winking at him cheekily and starting to eat her abandoned sandwich.

'You're acting way too Gryffindor for my liking,' Riddle said snidely, also turning back to his food.

'Really?' Ginny asked, tilting her head slightly in unspoken curiosity.

'Oh, you don't know about the house sorting system, do you?' Georgia butted in before anyone else could say anything.

'_You might belong in Gryffindor,  
__Where dwell the brave in heart,  
__Their daring, nerve and chivalry  
__Set Gryffindors apart._

'_Or perhaps in Slytherin  
__You'll make your real friends,  
__Those cunning folk use any means  
__To achieve their ends._

'_You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
__Where they are just and loyal,  
__Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
__And unafraid to toil._

'_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
__If you've a ready mind,  
__Those of wit and learning  
__Will always find their kind_,' Georgia recited, the Gryffindor verse receiving boos and hisses from the surrounding students and the Slytherin one being cheered on.

Ginny listened to the familiar words with a slight smile twisting her lips. If only her classmates knew. A lion among the snakes. Or, perhaps, all along, a snake among the lions? Ginny couldn't tell, only that she was fitting into the Slytherin house just as nicely as she would in the Gryffindor house in fifty years' time. 'Isn't it best, then,' Ginny started hesitantly, 'to have all of those talents? Think about it. Brave, daring, chivalrous, cunning, loyal, unafraid of hard work, wit, learning… don't the best few students in each house have all those qualities?' Ginny saw the stunned looks she got in response and gave them an apologetic, one shouldered shrug. Maybe it was too much to change Voldemort, without revolutionising the way the Hogwarts students thought of each of the houses as well.

'Look, new girl,' one of the seventh years said across several people. 'I know you've only been here a day and a half, but you should know by now that Slytherins aren't '_loyal_' or '_chivalrous_',' he spat the words off his tongue like they hurt to say them.

'Sure you are,' Ginny said easily. 'Slytherins and Ravenclaws are the best mannered students in the school. You put a lot of credit into behaviour. It's all about having pureblood morals. And as for loyalty… if your name or bloodline was insulted, or another pureblood's name was insulted by a muggle born… Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn't knock that person's lights out.'

This received a few nervous giggles, but it seemed like everyone's eyes had turned to Riddle, like it was he who had to answer. In a way, Ginny supposed he did. He was the ultimate Slytherin. No one else would dare to say anything until the only living descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself admitted to having a little bit of Gryffindor in him.

'Are you suggesting there shouldn't be a housing system?' Riddle asked tartly, gazing at her over his steepled fingers, very reminiscent of Dumbledore.

'Hell, no,' Ginny snorted, then took a huge bite of her sandwich.

'Well what then?'

Ginny swallowed and grinned. Her dark eyes seemed to flash almost amber in the light – a sure sign of something wicked this way coming. 'Healthy competition is good. This kind of segregation isn't,' was all she said, not revealing the plan that lay hidden behind her eyes.

Riddle regarded her for a while, but all Ginny did was carry on eating. When neither of them said anything else the rest of the Slytherins turned away and started it chatting among themselves. Ginny was aware of Riddle's gaze, and he knew that, but she ignored him, only flashing him crooked half grins every once in a while.

* * *

After lunch Ginny had some free time that she took in the Slytherin common room, under the pretence of doing homework, but really chatting to Matisse. He was a lot like his sister and Ginny still couldn't get over the English accent coming from a mouth that, she thought, should be speaking in a thick Jamaican intonations. But then fifth period rolled around and Ginny bid him goodbye to go to one of her specialised lessons with Dumbledore himself.

'Hey,' Ginny greeted cheerfully as she walked in to the room that was empty except for the bespectacled man.

'Hello, Miss Craigson. You seem to be happier,' Dumbledore remarked.

'Yes, Professor. It's good to be back at Hogwarts, even if it's the wrong house.'

Dumbledore didn't even have to ask Ginny anything, just looked at her with curious blue eyes.

'Oh, didn't I say? I was – will be – in Gryffindor.'

And there was the trademark twinkle of his eyes. 'A lion in the snake pit,' he said, echoing her earlier thoughts.

'Or a snake in the lions' den,' Ginny added. 'But I'm getting along just fine. I never understood the house prejudices much, but the fact that I'm settling in so well, must be some kind of–'

'But first, my dear, you must take into account that what you plan to do is entirely Slytherin,' Dumbledore interrupted.

Ginny nodded, cheery mood blackening slightly. 'And it's all for the greater good.'

The Transfiguration teacher looked at Ginny for a while, as though not truly seeing her before. But then his twinkle stole back and a smile nudged its way back on to his face. 'The greater good. Well, let's see how good you actually are.'

Dumbledore took off his outer robe and draped it over a nearby chair as Ginny did the same. With a flick of his wand the tables and chairs on his side of the room moved to the sides and stacked neatly. Ginny watched carefully and then repeated it for the remaining furniture. Then he pointed his wand at her, they each bowed dutifully, and the duel began.

Ginny was no match for Dumbledore, she knew that from the off, but it didn't stop her trying her hardest. For whilst he was more magically adept and powerful she was lithe and flexible, taking to ducking spells rather than casting protection shields. Ginny was also more versatile, for while she did not recognise some of the spells the future headmaster used she learnt from them, copying them and adapting them for her own means. Ginny's final downfall was when Dumbledore animated one of the table behind her and it locked her in an iron strong grip.

As soon as Ginny was on her feet again Dumbledore restarted the duel, this time slower and with most of the spells cast out loud, rather than silently. Ginny took this as a hint to demonstrate a larger variety of the spells she knew, rather than just the obvious ones that first came to mind. Dumbledore watched and reacted and allowed Ginny to get back in touch with the uncontrollable part of herself that rejoiced in duelling and that had been locked up in a cell as much as she had.

It was obvious from the way she moved and the way her emotions rolled across her face that whilst it brought back bad memories Ginny revelled in being able to fight again. For to her it was more than fighting – it was a form of meditation that took up every inch of her brain. Duelling with someone, particularly someone as experienced and brilliant as Dumbledore himself, meant that Ginny didn't have time to dwell on the things of the past.

It was good to dwell, but it was also good to forget.

Ginny lost, again, but this time she managed to get in a couple of shots herself. Dumbeldore's shoulder was slightly singed and he had a small cut on his left cheek, but that was only bleeding a little. Ginny had come out of it bruised and battered all over, but feeling delightfully _alive_. This time Ginny had been tripped up by one of the flagstones that had jumped up and caught her toe. It didn't hurt her much, except for her pride. Honestly, she could deal with dark curses and a few evil hexes, but a flagstone? Apparently not.

'Where did you learn most of those spells?' Dumbledore inquired, fixing the material covering his shoulder and carefully healing the cut on his cheek

'Eh, just now, from you,' Ginny said, rubbing her back and flexing her shoulders. 'Oh, I needed that! I haven't had that much of a work out since my brothers were all staying in the same house.'

Dumbledore chose to ignore that comment, taking it as the usual sibling rivalry rather than completely honest fact. 'Do you know what most of the spells did?'

Ginny straightened up and half shook, half nodded her head. 'Some of them you can tell what they do by the magic they use. Others are harder to identify until you see the effects.'

'What do you think is your strongest spell?'

Ginny knew the answer to that one! 'The Bat-Bogey Hex,' she replied confidently, allowing a small, only slightly vindictive grin creep across her face as she remembered the faces of Malfoy's cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, when she had used her latest version of the spell.

'Show me,' Dumbledore ordered, transfiguring a chair into a wooden dummy.

Ginny cast the spell, noticing with disappointment that wooden-dummy-bogies were boring. So much more fun when Crabbe is getting attacked by several smaller, greener, stickier versions of himself.

'Silently,' the professor said, leaving no room for argument.

Again Ginny cast the spell with ease, barely even having to concentrate any harder on the spell than she had to when she said it out loud.

'Now without your wand,' Dumbledore next ordered. 'You may say it out loud, if you wish.'

Ginny panicked slightly. She couldn't do this? The most she could do was a tiny summoning charm, and that had only worked once with a single coin. Never was she going to be able to perform the full bat-bogey hex without her wand. Nonetheless, she put her wand in her pocket and turned to the wooden dummy nervously, her fingers flexing as she tried to breath calmly.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard Harry, from when he was teaching her to cast silent spells. _Don't think about it any differently. The magic in you doesn't respond to words or movement, it listens to your heart and your mind. The more you can get them to agree the stronger your spell, but all you need to cast a spell is the right amount of will, concentration and confidence in yourself and your own skill. Now, give it a go. Remember, it's only me._ Only him. Only Harry. Ginny bit down harder on her bottom lip and raised her head, a warm calm settling over her. Then she concentrated.

The spell didn't quite hit the mannequin. In fact, it came a lot closer to what Ginny had secretly hoped it would hit. Dumbledore was flustered for a moment before he cast the counter-charm upon himself.

'You know that casting silent and wandless spells they are directed only to where you wish them to go?' he said wryly, his eyes sparkling.

'Sorry sir,' Ginny apologised reproachfully. 'But I always did wander what you'd look like as a bogey man.'

Dumbledore chuckled lightly. 'Yes, well, I'm guessing that is one of your first attempts at wandless magic?'

'Yes, sir,' Ginny confirmed.

'Well, then, that was astonishingly good, all things considered. Between now and Friday I would like you to do a little research on wandless magic and to practise as often as you can.' He paused, then added, 'I'm sure you'll be able to find some willing or, perhaps, unwillingly subjects.' He twinkled at her once more and swept out of the room.

Ginny glanced at the clock and let out a profanity as she realised she was supposed to be meeting Harry Potter Sr. In the library right about now. With a backwards glance over her shoulder Ginny set the room into something that might have resembled order, if the furniture hadn't all been upside down and swept quickly down the corridors, arriving at the library just as Potter was leaving.

'Oh, I thought you weren't going to turn up,' he said apologetically.

Ginny decided that the face and hair looked as though they were missing some vital part of the composition without her Harry's startling green eyes. Ginny had to forcibly remind herself that they didn't come in for another two generations.

'Sorry,' Ginny said, gasping for breath. 'Lesson…. Over ran… got here as… soon as I could.'

'Right,' Potter said as they turned back into the library and searched for a private corner. 'You're special lessons with Professor Dumbledore.'

'You know about them?' Ginny said, her breathing almost back to normal.

Potter nodded as the two of them sat down in a nook between different cause for boils and potions involving bole. 'Everyone knows everything you've told anyone,' he said in the same, bumbling way that reminded Ginny strongly of his grandson.

'You mean, nothing?' she clarified.

He grinned. 'Yeah.'

'Yeah, well, I lost track of time. It's only my first extra lesson, but it was interesting.'

'What did you do?'

'We duelled a bit and then I started work on wandless magic.'

Maybe she'd told him a little too much. It wasn't hard to remember that he wasn't _her_ Harry, but it was easy to forget that he wouldn't just accept that she was probably just a little ahead academically than the rest of her year. But whatever the exact cause it took Ginny a moment to rouse the Gryffindor, who was staring at her open mouthed. She waved her hand in front of his face once or twice and when he only blinked she resorted to threats.

'If you're not careful you'll swallow a fly. In fact, if you're not careful, you'll catch a whole bunch of flies, all coming out of my wand.

At that Potter's mouth clamped shut. 'You duelled… wandless magic?' Ginny finally understood after he several failed attempts to talk.

'Um, well he beat me pretty easily,' Ginny said. 'But yeah. And I've only just started wandless magic, I'm really bad at it at the moment,' she quickly lied. Although she had missed the dummy, Ginny couldn't help but picture the tiny green Dumbledores that soared around the Professor, attacking him and squeaking threateningly.

Potter shook his head in amazement. 'You really are something else, Miss Craigson.'

'Please, call me Ginny,' she said with a grin.

'Harry,' he responded, mirroring her smile. 'Are you sure you're a Slytherin? You seem loads better than the rest of your lot.'

Ginny felt a little awkward calling this boy Harry. He looked so similar, except for the eyes, and the fact that they shared names just made things worse. 'Don't tell anyone I told you this, but we're actually not all bad. I know I've only been here a day, but they're all so much like friends I have back…' Ginny trailed off. 'The friends I used to have,' she replaced.

'What happened to them, if you don't mind me asking?'

Ginny looked up with large, sad brown eyes, searching, searching for the emerald eyes she dearly longed to see. She could see the face and the hair and the figure and even the same expression, but not his eyes. 'They died,' she whispered. 'Murdered.'

Potter – no, Harry – lay a comforting hand on her shoulder and opened his mouth. To say something, to ask something or just to yawn, Ginny didn't see or hear because she dropped her face in her hands and tried, _tried_ not to think it was her Harry beside her. The a brilliant, if slightly ludicrous plan flashed across her mind.

'Po – Harry. Do you have a girlfriend?'

'No…' he said cautiously, wary of her sudden change in mood and where the question was leading.

'Would you… could you do me a favour?' Ginny asked, just as cautiously.

'What?'

Ginny blinked at his bluntness, before deciding she might as well tell the truth. 'Back from where I lived before, I suppose I can't even call it home, now, there was a guy.' Ginny stopped and drew in a long, unsteady breath. 'We were in love. We'd known each other since he was eleven, I was ten, and he saved my life in more ways than one. For a long time it was a stupid, school girl crush that he ignored as much as I tried to. Then, somehow, it changed. He made my world complete. Even when the world started falling down around our shoulders, there was still him and my family and friends so it didn't seem to matter too much.

'Then, one day, our shoulders finally gave way underneath the weight of the world. Everyone died. I was the only one who lived and God!' Ginny furiously brushed away the hot tears that were clawing their way down her cheeks. 'How I wish, sometimes that I didn't live. I know it's stupid, and I should be thankful I lived, but I miss them so much.'

Harry took all this in with sympathy mixed strongly with confusion. 'So, uh, what did you want me to do?'

'You know how I turned white at breakfast this morning?'

'Yeah?'

'Well, you, uh, look almost exactly like the guy I was in love with. And then you turn out to have the same name as well…' Ginny trailed off, looking everywhere and anywhere but at the boy sat opposite her. How often that seemed to be happening lately – first Riddle and now Potter.

'You want closure?' Potter said, suddenly understanding.

'Yeah,' Ginny replied bashfully.

Then, to her complete and utter surprise, Pott – Harry – cupped her cheek in his hand and pressed a soft kiss onto her lips. He immediately drew back and dropped her face as soon as his lips so much as grazed hers.

Ginny let out a long sigh. It had a little bit of her Harry in it, but it was different. Different in a bad way, Ginny decided. Plus, now that she thought about it, there was something very, very wrong about kissing her ex-boyfriends _granddad_. Ginny shuddered imperceptibly. That was just gross.

'Thanks,' she said with a smile, not letting any of her inner thoughts express themselves on her face.

'Help?' Harry asked.

Ginny nodded. 'Yeah, thanks. I'm sorry for using you that way, I just… it was time to let go, you know?'

Harry nodded slowly. 'Well, I'm glad I could help,' he said and then stood, half turning away from her before Ginny caught his sleeve.

'Look, I know it'll probably be a bit awkward, but do you want to meet up again at some other time, just to chat and study for a bit or something?'

He paused and Ginny found her breath catch in her throat as she waited for his response. 'Sure, why not?' he said finally, after what seemed like hours of waiting. Then he grinned and left.

Ginny sank back into the seat, slouching. Despite the obvious similarities between this Harry Potter and the future one, Ginny didn't find herself attracted to him at all. His kiss had been nice, but nothing more than that, and Ginny honestly couldn't face the thought of replacing one Harry Potter with another. But she really did want to be friends with the Head Boy. He was more easy-going than her Harry – with the kind of posture and relaxed attitude that Ginny's generation had lost somewhere during the war.

'Interesting conversations you have,' Eileen said as she rounded the bookcase, followed shortly by Katrina and Yuna.

'Were you three eavesdropping?' Ginny scolded mildly.

'Of course not!' Yuna said in a playfully horrified voice.

'Tell us about your Harry, Ginny,' Katrina said. 'Is he as dreamy as my one?'

'Your one?' Eileen asked with a giggle, elbowing Katrina in the ribs.

'What? He may be a Gryffindor, but he's one smoking piece of ass,' Katrina protested, pouting.

'My Harry was hotter,' Ginny inserted.

'No way. The only one thing on God's earth that's hotter than my Harry is Tom Riddle,' Katrina argued.

'Mm, Riddle ass,' Yuna agreed.

'Riddlers?' Eileen asked in confusion.

'Oh, don't even go there, Tom's such a Riddle it hurts to even think about it,' Katrina moaned.

Ginny shook her head and bit her lip again, this time to stop from laughing. It was so much like old times, with all of the Gryffindor girls hanging around together at Hogsmeade, giggling over butterbeers as boyfriends, best friends and old crushes all got added to the strange mix that was teenage conversation. Looking into each of the faces of the three other girls Ginny found that, if only she could let go of the ghosts of her past, she could find some kind of peace her in this new world.

* * *

Riddle was sat with his back leaning against the bookcase between him and four girls who were now chatting amiably about the hot guys at school. Although their current topic amused him greatly – apparently he was the hottest boy in the school, seconded by Head Boy and Gryffindor, Harry Potter and followed soon after by Theodore Grant – it was the previous one that he had been listening so intently to.

From the moment he had heard Ginny agree to meet up with the Potter boy he had decided he was going to follow them and listen in. His moods hand changed, as had Riddle's impression of Ginny, but that goal had not. So he had watched as Potter had waited nervously by the library door and had groaned in annoyance when he saw him leave, sighing when he returned with an out-of-breath Ginny.

He too had been shocked by Ginny's account of what had happened during her 'extra lessons', but less so than the Head Boy. Riddle already knew that Ginny was an extremely intelligent young witch. And he was fascinated by the little that she told Potter about her life before.

Riddle frowned. Before what? Before she came to Hogwarts seemed to fit, but like trying to slot two puzzle pieces together it just didn't quite match. Because although all that _had _happened before Ginny came to Hogwarts, her arrival was not the reason for the change. No, something else had. And Riddle couldn't dampen the fire that was demanding to know what that something was, because when he found out he was going to do it some serious damage – Ginny irritated him no end, but the only one he would allow hurt her was Riddle himself.

Not that he had hurt her, but then she hadn't been at the school two full days yet. Riddle tried not to think about the fact that he had had all of the other boys and girls of his year under his thumb before lunchtime of their first full day at Hogwarts as first years.

Another thing that Riddle though, by rights, shouldn't be done to Ginny by anyone but himself was the closure she wanted. A kiss. If she wanted a damn kiss so bad why didn't she just _ask_ hi, rather than go gallivanting off with annoying seventh years… a _Gryffindor_ no less. Had she no pride? Although Riddle had to admit to himself that the Potter kid had taken it much better than he would have. He probably would have laughed in her face.

Still, maybe it was best that Ginny got her _closure_. It might make her a little more accepting of the unspoken school rules. For example; Gryffindors do not talk to Slytherins. Tom Riddle's word is law. You're supposed to sabotage other people's potions, not stop the sabotage. The list went on and on and Ginny seemed either ignorant or was purposefully ignoring them. Riddle got the feeling it was the latter.

Riddle sighed and tuned back into what the girls behind him were saying.

'Oh, he's not so bad,' he heard Ginny say. Riddle wondered who the 'he' was.

'You're kidding, right?' Eileen – or was it Katrina? – said.

'No, I'm not. He's a bit misunderstood and, I guess, a little sadistic now and then…'

Someone laughed. 'Now that's one for the book: Tom Riddle, a little sadistic… now and then.' Whoever it was who had spoken, their voice was thick with gleeful sarcasm.

Riddle's interest was suddenly perked – it wasn't everyday that he got to hear exactly what people thought of him. At least, not admitting it honestly and openly to their friends.

'Seriously, though–' this was Ginny again '–I think he's just misunderstood.'

'I'm sorry to break it to you, Gin, but there's not much to misunderstand about Tom. He has to be the best at everything, you have to do exactly what he says and he has to get what he wants. If not, then someone gets hurt. Generally someone who had nothing to do with the events whatsoever.'

Riddle couldn't help but feel proud of himself when whoever it was said that. She was saying exactly what he wanted to tell them all about himself.

'We each deal with sorrow and loss different ways,' he heard Ginny say. What was she on about it? 'I snog random Gryffindor boys. He beats people up. It's the way the world works.' Ginny paused ,before adding quietly. 'My ex used to play very, very good Quidditch.'

'It seems odd to be calling him your 'ex' doesn't it?' One of the other girls asked her. 'Because you never broke up.'

Riddle could almost see in his mind's eye Ginny's rueful little grin and the half shake of her head as she was told this. He couldn't tell how, exactly, he knew what she was going to do, the way she was going to move, but it seemed as thought he had known her once. It may have been a very long time ago, but Riddle felt as though she had told him everything and, if only he could search long enough and hard enough, he might find that shard of memory containing her. But every time he grasped for it it slid further and further away.

Riddle sighed again. He had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge; to know the unknown. And when he listened to Ginny, when he thought about her, when he saw her, he knew that she was the biggest unknown of all.

_

* * *

_

A/N And ew, guys, that does not mean he wants to suck her insides out. You can thank my friend, Leelee for that lovely thought.

_Again, I apologise for any typos/misnomers/really, really bad grammar mistakes because, as before, I still don't have a beta (and don't really want one, either. I mean, you guys might want me to find a beta, but I couldn't care less) and, heh, this thing is over 9000 words long! I am not going to reread all of my horrible, horrible little mistakes and correct them because it would take me forever and I want to upload this.  
__See? See?! I have good intentions. I have the perfect excuse for not going through my work – it takes longer before I can give it to you guys!  
__Oh, and hey, do you like Harry Potter? Lol, that is going to get SO confusing. I have no doubt that by the end of the next chapter I'm going to be shooting myself for calling him by the same name (hells, I was almost shooting myself after THIS chapter, and Gin still refers to HP Jr. as 'her Harry') maybe I just won't include him in the next chapter. I dunno. I have no idea where this story is going to take me, only that we'll all get there together in the end.  
__I also have no idea how long it's going to be. I'll try and keep the chapters all about 9000-10000 words long, though._

_Anyways, I guess I've rambled on for quite long enough – your turn! Leave me a review, pretty pleeeeease? Oh, and let me know if you spot anything to OOC._

_Much love,  
__Cal  
__xxx_


	3. Beyond Black and White

_How can I think I'm standing strong,  
Yet feel the air beneath my feet?  
How can happiness feel so wrong?  
How can misery feel so sweet?  
How can you let me watch you sleep,  
Then break my dreams the way you do?  
How can I have got in so deep?  
Why did I fall in love with you?_

_This is the closest thing to crazy I have ever been  
Feeling twenty-two, acting seventeen,  
This is the nearest thing to crazy I have ever known,  
I was never crazy on my own...  
And now I know that there's a link between the two,  
Being close to craziness and being close to you._

_How can you make me fall apart  
Then break my fall with loving lies?  
It's so easy to break a heart;  
It's so easy to close your eyes.  
How can you treat me like a child  
Yet like a child I yearn for you?  
How can anyone feel so wild?  
How can anyone feel so blue?_

_**Disclaimer: Harry Potter ™ belongs to JKR and WB. Song Lyrics (Closest Thing to Crazy) ©Katie Melua**_

**_Warning: This chapter is most definitely rated T. This means the material henceforth is only suitable for people over the age of 13. _**

_**

* * *

**_

3: Beyond Black and White

Nothing of particular notice happened during the rest of the spring term. Days slipped into an easy routine and Ginny became better friends with Eileen, Katrina, Yuna and, after a little difficulty, Harry Potter the first. The Slytherin girls seemed to accept without question Ginny's need to befriend the boy who she claimed looked so much like the boy she had loved and lost, but the rest of the school was less willing to allow their relationship.

In the end Harry had had to introduce Ginny to every single member of the Gryffindor house. Being back in the Gryffindor common room came as a bit of a shock to Ginny and she failed to keep the emotion from her face when she first stepped into the room, but everyone just thought it was because it was so different from the Slytherin rooms. After hours assuring the girls in particular that their friendship was purely platonic Ginny was finally allowed to leave, heartened and – just a little bit – admired by the Gryffindors. Though they would never admit it.

Harry, on the other hand, did not visit the Slytherin common rooms. Ginny's new house either couldn't care less about her friendship or simply would not allow a Gryffindor inside the snake pit. When Eileen explained that to her Ginny had found it hilariously funny, although no one could understand why and Ginny wasn't saying anything.

The person least affected by it all was Riddle. Everyday he and Ginny would dance a merry little dance of friendly insults, cheerful banter and snide remarks that, as the weeks wore on, got more subtle and carefully manipulated. After a month spent sharing three of their five chosen subjects together anyone listening in to their conversations would think that it was merely polite conversation between two individuals sharing a mutual animosity, but refusing to be rude. In reality it was, in a way, friendly chat between two almost-friends. Because God forbid that Tom Riddle and Ginevra Craigson be _friends_.

It had not taken long for Ginny to work out that Riddle had overheard her first conversation with Harry and, to his surprise, she hadn't been angry. Ginny had assured him that there was nothing he had seen or heard that she didn't mind him hearing – that if there had been she would have cast a silencing charm. If anyone else had said that Riddle would have been mildly surprised, but it was Ginny so he wasn't.

They still argued, and when they did anyone who was present watched with fascination at the way that Ginny could talk Riddle down or, alternatively, rile him up and then leave him to explode at the nearest person or object. It was not uncommon to find the remnants of an ex table or chair in classrooms that had not been used for teaching in for years. But as the arguments became more explosive they also became more infrequent. And, though neither of them would say it to the other, it was much more fun trying to get a rise out of the other now that they were becoming more and more immune to the other's insults.

Her lessons with Dumbledore continued to be strange and slightly exciting. Ginny had finally managed to wield wandless magic, but it was still fairly weak and she needed quite a bit of time to prepare herself for casting it. She started each lesson with a short duel against her professor that she lost every time, though she was definitely getting better. And he always finished by setting her a little bit of reading on a certain topic.

Ever since Riddle had brought it up on her first day Ginny had wanted to ask Dumbledore about Animagi, but the opportunity had never arisen. That and the fact Ginny was worried that if she mentioned it he would not allow her to become one or would make sure that she was registered. And Ginny dearly wanted a freedom in her life that wasn't documented or questioned because nobody would know. If only Riddle had known what a set of dominoes he would set off in Ginny's mind he wouldn't have mentioned it.

So Ginny had set about reading up on Animagi and the spells and potions needed, grimacing at some of the ingredients. She had yet to attempt anything, but she knew that sometime in the near future she would be sneaking into Slughorn's private store cupboard. She only hoped that the wards he kept were less severe than those Snape had erected during Ginny's sixth year.

She was distracted from this goal, however, when on the last Thursday before the Easter holidays Jon Wilson, a Hufflepuff third year, was found petrified. The school was thrown in to an uproar unmatched, even by the same incident fifty years in the future because, this time, the teachers were at a loss as to what to do. And, of course, the first time it happened in Ginny's time it had been a cat. And a disliked cat at that.

'Riddle,' Ginny greeted the following morning as she arrived at breakfast with the other girls.

'Craigson,' he responded, sending her a nod in acknowledgment.

Ginny was thinking up a particularly witty opening to the talk they needed to have about a certain secret chamber when Professor Dippet stood and called for quiet.

'As I am sure you are all aware a student was attacked and petrified some point during lunch yesterday. We have yet to discover the attacker, but the other teachers agree with me that, for your safety, all students will return home this coming holiday.'

This news did not seem to bother many people – Ginny gathered that most people, like at Christmas, had decided to go home anyway. Riddle, however, _was_ bothered. He didn't say anything, but he stood with such a force that the bench behind him was shunted backwards. For a moment he stood and stared furiously at the headmaster, but when nothing happened he seemed to momentarily lose control of his magic. The glasses and dishes on the table next to him shattered and the nearest candles above his head flared into floating balls of fire.

Then Riddle got a hold of himself and turned, stalking out of the the room, leaving the Great Hall in silence.

'Heh,' Ginny said into that silence. 'And I thought Gryffindors had a temper. If you'll excuse me, professors?' she asked politely to the teachers. Dippet nodded once, his brow furrowed in some unknown emotion. Ginny shot a wink at Eileen, who rolled her eyes back, causing Katrina to elbow Ginny softly in the ribs. She stood and followed quickly after Riddle, knowing exactly what she was going to say. Admittedly Ginny had been relying on only having to worry about the summer holidays, but maybe, in a way, this was better.

'I'm guessing,' Ginny said when she found Riddle a couple of moments later in an empty classroom – she'd only had to follow his loud swearing – 'that when you let out the basilisk this wasn't what you planned to happen?'

'Of bloody course not!' Riddle yelled, throwing his hands up in the air and stalking around in the classroom like a caged animal. 'The snake was supposed to _kill_ the idiot mudblood and–' Riddle turned with a horrified expression to look at Ginny. 'You _knew_.' He whispered.

Ginny smirked at him. 'Yes, your point being?'

'But – how did you know? Who else knows? Because, I swear Craigson, if you've told anyone you'll be next on my list, pureblood Slytherin or not.' Riddle hissed venomously.

Ginny snorted. 'Because that would go down so well. "Sir, sir, you have to help me – the evil Mr Riddle has opened an ancient room which nobody believes exists and plans to wipe out all muggle borns in the school!" yeah… believable,' Ginny said, her voice thick with sarcasm.

Riddle would have rolled his eyes if his whole body wasn't taught with high stung tension. 'How did you find out?'

'All things considered it wasn't hard to work out. First, you're prime suspect. Because who could possibly want to hurt a poor, bumbling little muggle born Hufflepuff except school bully, Tom Riddle? And admitting it to me without me even having to ask was a bit of a give away too,' Ginny pointed out.

'But the Chamber of Secrets – how did you guess?'

'Right back at the beginning of term I said something along the lines of giant snakes invading the school and you turned even paler than usual. Piece that together with the fact that you're Slytherin's heir and Salazar was said to have a hidden chamber containing some kind of monster – presumably a serpent of some sort – then Wilson's petrifaction, the trademark sign of a Basilisk… you do the maths.' Ginny thought over that reasoning and realised that, really, she probably, maybe, might have worked it out on those facts alone. There was no point in telling him that she had opened the chamber herself in fifty years time.

'Are you the only one who knows?' Riddle asked stiffly.

'I think so,' Ginny assured him. 'I haven't told anyone and I don't think anyone else has figured it out. Give it a couple of days, though, and you'll have Dumbledore on your case.'

Riddle swore.

'Language, Riddle,' Ginny scolded gently. 'Now, we best be packing for the holidays.'

Riddle swore again, earning himself a friendly slap across the back of the head. 'What's the point? I'll leave my school stuff here and it's not as if I have much else.'

Ginny shook her head sorrowfully and offered him a shrug. 'I'd keep your chin up, Riddle, you might find you'll having a saving angel this Easter.'

And with that cryptic message Ginny swept out of the room, thanking Snape for his theatrical entrances and exits. Ginny had never thought herself much of an actor, but with a Slytherin mask, a haughty glance and a sweep of a billowing cloak she had fit in with these snakes with easy grace.

Ginny heard Riddle swear again when the door swung shut behind her and rewarded herself with a small giggle. Now that he was curious about what she had said it would keep his mind a little off going 'home'. In her mind's eye Ginny could still see the image of Riddle curled up on his bed, rocking back and forth as blood trickled out of the gashes in his back. She would not let that continue. And Ginny had just the plan to get what she wanted.

For now, though, Ginny went to the Headmasters office, asking the gargoyle guarding the entrance very nicely if he would let her through. Astounded by her good manners – it was obviously used to people just barking the password and pushing their way through – it stepped aside and let her up. Ginny tapped lightly on the heavy door, announcing herself as a voice called from inside for her to enter.

'Ah, Miss Craigson. I wished to talk to you about your arrangements over the holidays,' Professor Dippet started.

'Yes, and I needed to tell you that the key to my family's fortune arrived in the post the day before yesterday so I would not be needing the school or the ministry's charity.'

'You are under aged! You can not possibly be expected to care for your own financial standings,' Dippet protested, astounded.

Ginny thought sourly of the way her Harry had been given the key to his family fortune at age eleven. She was seventeen (even if she had been masquerading as sixteen) and quite able to care for herself. More able, possibly than the Headmaster – during the holidays, at least. 'You don't understand, Professor, I turned of age two days ago, that is why I received the key.'

'Oh, oh of course. Are you quite able to take care of yourself?'

'There isn't much there – our money lay in our lands – but it is enough for me to get by for one Easter Holiday and the summer holidays, especially if I take a job. I was hoping to apply for an apprenticeship here at Hogwarts after my graduation in a year and a half's time,' Ginny made up. She did mean to apply for a teaching position, but the story about the key? Ginny was stuck out of her time without a penny to her name. Well, that wasn't strictly true, but she wasn't about to tell anyone anything.

'Very well. With your academic ability we'd have no trouble in acquiring you a position after your NEWTs. Now, could you fill me in on the Riddle situation?'

'Oh, he'll get over it. He's just a little annoyed,' Ginny said lightly, smug little smirk teasing the edges of her mouth.

'Miss Craigson, please be serious.'

'Oh, I am. He was furious earlier, but trust me when I say he'll get over it.'

'If I find there's anything you aren't telling me…' Dippet trailed off, seeing the hard, blazed look in Ginny's eye.

'You'll have to forgive me, Professor, if I _don't_ tell you everything. There are some things that are best not known by anyone.'

Dippet flustered a moment before dismissing Ginny, but not before she caught the eye of the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, who recognised her as Slytherin and winked proudly at her. Ginny nodded to him and quickly slipped out of the door before the Headmaster could see her grin. Although Ginny still had nightmares and strong images of those few months of Hell, she had come to terms with it and was relaxing in to her new life.

* * *

The train journey going back to King's Cross seemed to take a lot less time than Ginny was used to. She was pretty certain that the journey length and time had not changed – it was merely her own assessment of that time that had changed. Normally Ginny would be excited to be going home. She'd be seeing her parents and older brothers who she wouldn't have seen for at least a couple of months and it would be a welcome break from the constant chatter and noise of Hogwarts.

This time no one would be waiting for her when she arrived. Her parents were only toddlers by this time and her brothers were dead. She wondered whether this was what it was like for Harry every time he had to head home to his horrid family. Ginny still remembered the haunted look on Harry's face when he had been told his family had been murdered to get at him. He had not loved them, but no one deserved what they had done to them and it was all – in his mind – his fault.

Ginny looked around the carriage she was sharing with Eileen, Katrina, Yuna and her twin brother Matisse and Riddle. Katrina and Riddle had disappeared a while back as their prefect duties called them to the front of the train, Yuna and Matisse were whispering excitedly to each other about something and Eileen was reading one of her gossip magazines. Ginny sighed and stared out the window at the landscape flashing past. It hadn't changed much in the fifty years. There were fewer roads and houses and there was more smoke, but it was essentially the same.

She had a plan for when she got to King's Cross, of course. Ginny just wasn't sure how well it was going to work. She had never really pick pocketed anything from anyone except her brothers. And she needed to know what muggle currency was at the moment. She'd tried to figure it out from the exchange rates printed at the back of the Daily Prophet, but they had been imprecise and inaccurate. Besides, it wasn't the exchange rate she needed.

Riddle walked back into the carriage with his usual, long-legged stride that made him seem too tall for the train. The sixteen year old had been in a bad mood ever since Headmaster Dippet's announcement the previous day, but he had not said anything. That was part of the problem; Riddle not saying anything. Usually the slightest thing out of order or not to his liking was commented on and then hastily changed by someone else. Now it didn't seem to matter. And he kept rubbing his left forearm.

Ginny knew that the place he kept rubbing would be the place he chose to mark his followers with the dark mark in the future, but it wasn't until now that she had entertained the possibility of there being some kind of symbolic gesture or vengeance behind its position. She'd have to ask him about it at some point.

After making her mental memo Ginny turned her gaze from Riddle's arms to his face. He truly was a very handsome young man. But then Ginny had known that since she was eleven. He had a high forehead and chiselled features, pointed chin, though not to the extent of the Malfoy's family. His nose was straight and thin, rounded at the tip and perfect for his face. His eyes, though, were the best part. They were a grey that was both light and deep at the same time; containing more than just grey, but blue and tiny flecks of green too. Ginny remembered how they turned almost blue when he was happy and pure grey when he was angry. She wondered what colour they would turn when he was sad.

As she was studying his eyes so intently they blinked at her and Ginny copied him, raising one eyebrow up her forehead.

'Have you been enjoying your studies?' he asked. To anyone else it sounded like he was referring to their school work. Ginny, however, knew that he was instead asking about her careful inspection of the colour of his face and eyes.

'Some of it's fascinating – particularly our defence teacher's explanation of the different shades of Patronuses. Some parts are plain boring,' Ginny replied, her eyes sparkling. She loved these hidden conversations with Riddle. Judging by the way his eyes had gone from dull and flat from boredom to being a shade bluer, she guessed he enjoyed them too. Her last comment, of course, was not referring to Patronuses at all, rather, to the colour of his eyes.

'I agree… the colour analysis really was very interesting. But you found some parts boring?' Oh, so he liked the colour of her eyes too, did he?

'I didn't truly understand the point of going over spells on how to style someone's hair when I, at least, have known them since I was eight,' Ginny answered, biting the insides of her cheek to keep from grinning. There was nothing particularly amusing about the comment except for the message she was sending to Riddle was she thought his haircut was that of an eight year old's.

'Yes, I could tell,' he said after a moment. Ginny glanced up and saw, not the insulted gaze she expected to see, but the sincere gaze of Riddle paying someone a compliment. Ginny couldn't help the blush creeping into her cheeks. Riddle smirked at her.

Katrina, who had followed Riddle in and had been following the exchange, pouted. 'Why do I get the feeling that I'm missing something?'

Riddle turned his stoic gaze out of the window as Ginny sniggered. 'Don't worry, 'Trina. It's nothing important.'

Eileen, who had not looked up from her magazine, stated perceptively; 'It's just their way of flirting with each other.'

Riddle suddenly became that much more interested in the countryside passing by. Ginny's flush returned with a vengeance.

'What? By talking about school work?' Katrina asked in amazement.

Eileen finally looked up, smirked at Ginny's blush before turning her black gaze upon Katrina. 'I have no idea what they were talking about, but one thing I know for certain; school work is the last thing they were talking about.'

Ginny gave Eileen a gentle nudge in the ribs with her elbow. 'Shush,' she said in a teasing voice. 'You're just confusing the poor kitty.'

'Oh, for crying out loud! I'm not a cat!' Katrina cried out, pouting again. 'Seriously, though, what were you talking about?'

Ginny looked up at Riddle, who was looking at her intensely. He did a nonchalant, one-shouldered half shrug, but shook his head almost imperceptibly.

'If you can't figure it out for yourselves, I'm not going to tell you,' Ginny said in a playfully childish sing-song voice. Katrina just pouted some more.

Ginny and Katrina continued to tease each other with no real venom, accepting the odd comment here and there from Eileen and Riddle and, only once or twice, from the twins, until the train drew up at Platform 9¾. It was late afternoon by then and everyone seemed to rush off the train to greet their family. Katrina spared Ginny a fleeting hug and a swift goodbye before she sprang out, the twins and Eileen following suit, although a little slower.

'See you all in a couple of week's time!' Ginny called cheerfully after them, her fellow Slytherins lifting their hands and waving their stately goodbyes before disappearing into the misty smog. Ginny turned back and sank with a sigh back onto the seat she had spent the journey on.

'Not running off?' Riddle said, spite and jealousy lacing his voice.

Ginny snorted elegantly. 'All my family and friends died a couple of months ago, remember?' She paused, leaning back on the thin yet comfortable cushion coated bench. 'What about you? Is someone coming to pick you up?'

Riddle just shot her a furious glare.

Ginny shrugged. 'OK, then. I'll be back in ten minutes, I want to catch Harry before he leaves.'

Riddle didn't dignify Ginny's statement with a response. He didn't even move. Ginny sighed and left the carriage, running out onto the platform and searching through the thick cloud of steam and smoke until she caught sight of a too-familiar mop of messy black hair. 'Harry!' she called out, ignoring the curious looks from the parents as a Slytherin rushed up and hugged a Gryffindor.

'Hey, Gin,' he said with a sloppy grin, returning the hug hesitantly, but willing enough.

'Sorry, didn't mean to scare you,' Ginny said, leaping backwards. 'I just… well, you know.' She felt her cheeks heating up as the man and woman standing behind James gazed at her with apprehensive interest.

'Yeah, I know. And it doesn't matter. Ginny, meet my mum and my dad. Mum, Dad, this is Ginny,' Harry said, introducing her to the couple who had been looking at her.

'Mr and Mrs Potter, pleasure to meet you,' Ginny said politely, with a small smile.

'Please, dear, call me Margaret,' the woman said.

'James,' the man added, offering his hand. Ginny shook it enthusiastically, mentally rolling her eyes. Did the Potters have no imagination when it came to names? Particularly male ones?

'Thanks. Look, Harry, I have to go. You have good holiday, and I'll see you in a couple of week's time!' Ginny said, grinning broadly at them and running off, allowing herself a rueful grin when she overheard Mrs Potter – Maragret – say 'Well she has to be the oddest Slytherin I've ever met.'

Ginny jumped back aboard the train, bumping in to Riddle as he was leaving.

'Oh,' he said. 'I thought you'd gone already.'

Ginny rolled her eyes at him. 'I said I'd be back. Besides, my trunk is still in the compartment.'

Riddle smirked, a little more colour coming back into the cheeks that were so pale normally anyway. He pointed at the two trunks before him, both of them looking rather meagre and skinny. It took Ginny a moment to realise that one of them was the trunk she had been assigned by the faculty.

'So, how do you want to get to the orphanage? Bus, Train or Taxi?' Ginny asked him.

'I usually walk,' he replied monotonously, the colour fading away again at the mention of the orphanage. He looked like the living dead, the shade he was at the moment.

'I haven't been to London in a while,' Ginny commented dryly. 'Maybe a walk would do me good.'

Riddle said nothing, only bowed his head so he was staring at his feet. Ginny grabbed both of their trunks and headed off towards the exit, whistling nonsensically again. Glancing over her shoulder she saw that Riddle had slipped into a state of semi-permanent depression. Ginny turned away from him before he could see the look in her eyes.

She was confused. Riddle was usually so emotionless and, even when he was feeling something, he hid it so well under his façade of uncaring very few could distinguish it from his usual state of mind. But here, leading her slowly through London to the dirtier, grimier back streets on their way to orphanage, every step Riddle took he winced. The closer they came the slower he went and the more depressed he became. And it was all written clear as daylight across his features.

Eventually Ginny couldn't stand just watching him anymore and, forgetting what he was to become, she shrunk the two trunks she was dragging behind her and slipped them into her pocket. Then she ran up to him and wrapped an arm around his waist. He froze and looked down at her, his face suddenly turning furious.

'I don't want your pity, Craigson,' he spat at her.

'Good. Because I'm not giving you pity,' Ginny replied, her face hardening and her arm tightening, hugging him closer to her.

'Like fuck you aren't,' Riddle retorted, trying to push her away.

As he turned Ginny took the opportunity to wrap her other arm around him as well. Riddle swore colourfully, but Ginny just looked up at him seriously. 'This isn't pity, Riddle. Pity is cooing and expressing regret and not doing anything.' Riddle had stopped trying to get away so Ginny stepped forward and hugged him, wrapping her arms tightly around him. 'This is comfort,' she whispered, leaning her head against his chest and closing her eyes.

Hesitantly Riddle allowed his arms to snake around her until he was holding her loosely. 'I – thank you,' he replied softly.

Ginny leant back and smirked up at him. 'Who said it was comfort for _you_?' she teased him. Then they let each other go and carried on walking. 'I don't like leaving you here,' Ginny confessed sotto voice.

Riddle said nothing, but his head did not droop back to stare at his feet as they moved on.

The rest of their journey was travelled in silence and Ginny was amazed at how quickly you could get from the respectable areas of the everyday folk to the disgusting back alleys upon which the orphanage was situated. She held her tongue, however, and returned Riddle's luggage to its usual size as they stopped outside a cracked wooden door.

'I don't understand,' Ginny said after a long moment of the two of them staring at the wooden door. 'It's the middle of the second world war for the muggles – surely they'd have evacuated you all by now?'

Riddle snorted. 'Like they care,' was all he said.

Ginny sighed and moved to hug Riddle before she left.

'Don't,' he told her, not capable of meeting her eyes.

Whether he was referring to hugging him or about leaving, Ginny ignored him. She wrapped her skinny arms around his well built body and, on impulse, stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek gently before she stepped away. 'I'll be seeing you.'

Riddle looked at her dolefully and then turned his back on her and knocked on the ominous door.

Ginny walked quickly away, she did not want to be seen by the owners or the orphanage for a very specific reason. If her plan was to work she could not be recognised later on. For now, however, Ginny searched briefly for some public toilets so she could change into her disguise.

Several minutes, a new outfit, a little make up and a couple of hair pins later and Ginny emerged onto the streets looking completely unrecognisable to the scrawny girl who had left them. She was wearing a cream silk blouse that clung to her wiry body in all the right places, making her look a lot better fed than she was. For although living at Hogwarts had fattened her up slightly, Ginny's ribs still protruded a little more than what was healthy and her breasts were yet to return to their ample fullness. She was wearing a long, but light skirt that was a dark, royal purple and rolled beautifully off her hips.

Ginny had applied a little foundation to cover the majority of her freckles and then added a little blusher, rouge and mascara just to enhance her features enough to give off the air of a fashionable young lady. Her hair was pinned back into a tight bun, which was covered with a large, but not overly-so hat. Her red hair always had looked darker when it was tied back so, with a little magical help, it now looked almost black.

Complimented with a trunk that had been transfigured into a hand bag Ginny looked the very essence of rich young lady of the mid-war era. She made her way swiftly to more respectable parts of the town and stood watching the street until she saw someone looking the appropriate part. Ginny made her way towards the middle aged gentleman and accidentally on purpose tripped up over nothing and fell against him. The man was startled, but soon brushed off her apology.

'Not at all, young lady,' he said with a shake of his salt and pepper hair. 'It's not everyday that one is fair attacked by such a handsome young woman as you.'

Ginny encouraged the blush onto her cheeks at that remark. So long as he kept thinking she was innocent, all was fine. 'Thank you sir. You couldn't direct me towards the Queen Mary hotel, could you?' she asked, having made note of the five star hotel as she passed it earlier.

'Of course, it is the first turning off on your right, over there,' he said, gesturing down the road. 'Would you like an escort?'

'Thank you, but I will have to pass,' Ginny said, frantically searching for an excuse. The last thing she needed was him actually walking there with her. 'My, er, fiancé is quite possessive, sir,' she adlibbed.

The man looked instantly put out. However, he did not protest as she apologised again and made a quick escape.

Ginny made her way quickly back towards the hotel she had mentioned, only taking the wallet she had stolen out of her inside pocket when she was sure the man she had bumped into could no longer see her. Allowing herself a brief, victorious grin, Ginny realised that she had stolen far more than she had intended. It had only been her aim to steal a few coins so she could reproduce them magically and pay her way, but she was looking down at a fair fortune.

Though in fifty years time £60 would not be seen as that much, all things considering, in this day and age it was more than Ginny had ever seen in one place other than a bank account. Half laughing and half remorseful Ginny soon came to the conclusion that the man she had bumped into must have been either very, very rich, or he himself was a thief. Either way any guilt she might have had was soon washed away.

Ginny arrived at the hotel and booked herself a two-bedroom, lounge and bathroom suit for two weeks and was escorted there by a porter who was looking very smug at the fact he did not have any bags he needed to carry for her.

'Thank you,' Ginny said once he had showed her the rooms. 'If you would be so kind as to fetch me some paper and writing equipment. I will also be taking dinner in my rooms, if you would be so kind as to also bring up a menu.'

'Of course, mademoiselle,' the young man said before leaving Ginny to her own company.

Ginny moved into the room she had decided would be her guest's and set about creating the place as comfortable as possible, slowly designing and creating magically several outfits. The porter then returned and Ginny thanked him again and ordered her meal. He left once more and Ginny set to work. She had plans to make and a lot of work to do.

* * *

Six hours later and the seventeen year old was ready. The meal the hotel had provided had been left, untouched on the side and guarded by a stasis spell that stopped the food from cooling, or the gravy from congealing.

Slipping into her room Ginny changed easily into another outfit that she had transfigured, this time from spare towels in the bathroom. She was now wearing dark tan trousers that served as a second skin and knee-high leather boots with quite a heal on them. She had loose white blouse on now, that was covered with a tight cross between waistcoat and corset. Her hair was now loose around her shoulders, though her magic still made it appear a considerably darker red than usual.

Ginny cut a terrifying figure, enhanced rather than dampened by the long over coat she wore over her attire. It was black and reached her ankles, much like a wizarding cloak. Drawing it close around her Ginny turned and stepped, disappearing from her rooms with a crack.

She reappeared about five miles away, standing looking at a cracked wooden door that she had seen only once before, but still seemed dauntingly familiar. Ginny raised a hand and knocked once, twice, then waited.

Eventually, after what seemed like hours, the door swung open to reveal an elderly man whose retreating hair reminded Ginny strongly of Bellatrix Lestrange. He had a squashed face that looked as though he had had it smashed in more than once and short with a plump frame. His clothes were disgustingly dirty and moth bitten, much like the man himself in many ways, and when he opened his mouth to speak it took a lot of will power for Ginny not to wince at the sight of what remained of his teeth.

'Whaddayawunt?' he blurted drunkenly, his breath reeking of cheap alcohol. 'Cos if you're 'ere to drop of unwanted baggage we don't have no room,' he burbled on, unaware or uncaring of the double negative.

'Aye, sir,' Ginny said, giving herself a thick cockney accent. 'But I'm here to pick up, not drop off… if you get my meaning,' she continued, winking in a familiar way, even as her mind reeled in disgust at the man before her.

'Oh, of cour',' the man said, leading her in to the building. Ginny was caught entirely off guard when the man bellowed loudly, something along the lines of, 'get all your asses down here you lazy sods.'

A thin, straggling line of about ten children, ages ranging from 2 to 13 appeared in the room looking utterly miserable and ill-treated. But Riddle was not there.

'Excuse me, guv, but I was under the impression you had more than this?' Ginny asked, eyes glittering fiercely as she walked down the line of children.

'Yeah, why?'

'Cos me man wants them all,' Ginny said, turning to him with a malicious glint in her eye that he entirely misinterpreted.

'You payin'?'

'Get the others down here first,' Ginny ordered, then turned her back on him as he stuttered and tripped out of the room.

Her gaze flickered over the children before her and she did her best not to shudder. They were all skinny as rakes, eyes sunken in and clothes – no, rags – were hanging limply off their bodies. And this was the home that Riddle lived in. Well, at least it explained how he had become so good at torture – all of the kids had burn marks and bruises covering their skin.

The door swung open behind her and Ginny turned smartly to see the man drag three boys into the room. Bile rose in her throat as Ginny took in their broken, bleeding skin and matted hair. They did not look up at her, just grunting as they lay where they were pushed. Controlling her expression as she recognised one of them to be Riddle, Ginny turned to the proprietor.

'Five quid for the lot of them,' she said.

'You what? They're worth mor'an tha'!'

'If you fed them proper, maybe,' Ginny agreed. 'But now it's going to take me a couple of weeks to have them nice and ready to work, isn't it? Take the money and be happy it isn't less.'

'You're sellin' us?' a little girl cried out in horror, stepping out of the line.

Ginny immediately turned to the girl and lowered herself to the girl's height and smirked vindictively, wishing she could give just the smallest sign that they were going somewhere safe.

'Don't worry, girlie, you'll like you're new work just fine,' Ginny said, winking suggestively at her. The girl shrank back and lowered her head once more, her body shaking from silent sobs.

'I quite like the sound o' havin' one o' your professionals for meself,' the man said, sneering disgustingly.

'Do you have ten quid to spare on our cheapest whore?' Ginny asked him maliciously. When the man shook his head in horror she let laughter drop like poison from her lips. 'Thought not.'

Then she shoved the money into his hand and left, the children following silently. The three boys who had entered last, however, were shoved out of the door before it was slammed in their faces.

Ginny immediately ran to Riddle's side, swearing violently.

'Riddle, you arse, can you stand?' she asked, not quite dropping her accent.

His head snapped up and he stared at her for a moment before comprehension dawned. 'Thank fucking God,' he managed to grate out, his voice thick and hoarse. 'But what the hell are you doing here?'

'Well I bought you, didn't I?' Ginny said with a smirk. 'I want to keep an eye on my new goods.'

'Damn you, Craigson, I'm in pain,' Riddle ground out.

'I know,' she muttered softly, before leaning close to his ear and whispering, 'how many of them know about magic?'

Riddle shrugged, then winced at the movement.

'Right,' Ginny said standing and turning to face the children. 'Let's get a couple of things straight. I am not taking you to a whore house, nor am I a whore.'

Riddle let out a rasping laugh from behind her. 'You sure as hell look like one,' he pointed out.

'I look hot in these clothes, I won't deny,' Ginny said with a smirk. 'But shut your gap for two minutes.' The girl turned back to the twelve others. 'I'm here to save your skins from another beating, hopefully forever. Now, I need to get the lot of you cleaned up and into new clothes. If the two oldest of you would take those two,' she pointed at the other two boys in much the same condition as Riddle, 'and follow me in silence.'

Silently the children did as Ginny ordered, eyes wide and round as if they understood what was happening, but it seemed too fantastic to be real. Ginny hefted Riddle up, ignoring his moans of complaint, and hitched an arm underneath his so that he was half walking and half being carried by her.

The journey was fast as Ginny was only taking them to a dead end alley and there were enough around. When they arrived Ginny quickly moved and transfigured a couple of bins so they were surrounded by walls on all sides. The children watched in amazement as she then went on to turn a couple of tin cans into chairs for the three worst to sink into. Riddle sat down, muttering about stupid muggles and old-fashioned walking. Ginny rolled her eyes and turned to the others.

'Could you line up, youngest first? And please don't panic,' Ginny requested.

They moved quickly, frantically – clearly terrified about taking too long, or getting it wrong. Before long Ginny was crouching down next to the youngest of the thirteen orphans, a tiny two year old girl with humungous blue eyes.

'Hey, what's your name?' Ginny asked.

'Lizzy,' the girl replied.

'Do you have a sirname?'

'No. Just Lizzy,' the two year old stated firmly.

'OK, Lizzy. Would you mind if I gave you second name?' Ginny asked gently. When the girl shook her head Ginny continued. 'You're now going to be Lizzy Peters, is that alright?'

'Yes.'

'Now, how old are you?'

'Four,' the toddler said, surprising Ginny. Four? But the child was tiny! She should be starting school soon! At that thought Ginny's heart sank. All these kids should be going to school. How many of them were? Deciding to leave that for individual questioning she turned back to the youth before her.

'Can you close your eyes and relax for me?' Ginny requested.

Nervously Lizzy did as instructed. Ginny waved her wand, casting a quick scourgify. She knew that each of the kids would have to have baths to get properly clean, but for now that would do. Then Ginny set about changing the rags Lizzy had on until the little girl was wearing a pretty pink dress and shiny new shoes over knee high white socks. Ginny quickly added a thick coat and wrapped it around her, telling the girl to open her eyes.

Lizzy and the others all looked in amazement at the transformation as Ginny laughed delightfully, prepared to forget momentarily, the gloom these children had been living in. Ginny made her way gradually down the line, asking each child their name and age – making up surnames where necessary. Then she cleaned each of them and changed their clothes into things that were comfortable, warm and most importantly, respectable.

After the first ten were done Ginny turned to the three eldest, the two of whom Ginny did not know staring at her apprehensively. Riddle seemed to have fallen asleep.

'What are you?' one of them asked, his voice thick.

'I'm a witch,' Ginny replied bluntly. 'And you are hurt. I'm afraid I can't do much about that now, so you will have to put up with the pain a little longer.'

The boy laughed roughly. 'I've put up with the pain for years. It's the humiliation I'm getting used to.'

Ginny's smirk fell from her face as she looked him straight in the eye. 'You have nothing to be ashamed of. That git back there will get what he deserves, I promise you that. None of this is your fault. Trust me when I say I have seen people in a lot more pain than you. Trust me when I say that I have seen more human mutilation and torture than anyone should see. Trust me when I say that I will tell no one of this.'

Ginny turned so she was talking to all of them. 'I will rewrite your life stories. I can not change the past–' much as she was trying, right now '–but I will give you all something worth living for. I will give you all a future you can enjoy because I know what it's like to feel hopeless. I know what it's like to wish for the end to come already.' Ginny closed her eyes and turned her head away as the image of Harry's pitiful face, bloodied and bruised, pleading up at her appeared in her mind's eye.

The children watched her in silence as she cleaned up the other two and changed their clothes. Then she turned to Riddle. Ginny cleaned him up slowly, with more care than she had the others, and changed him into a smart suit that had him raising his eyebrows as her eyes swept his body appreciatively.

'Pervert,' he murmured under his breath at her.

'No, whore,' Ginny reminded him cheerfully, just as quietly.

He laughed softly and Ginny noted with pleasure that his eyes turned a delicious soft blue when he did so. The train journey, though they had only left the station about seven hours ago, seemed as though it was more than a lifetime ago.

Ginny then stood and turned to the children. 'I'm sure you all have dozens of questions and I will answer them, but first you all need to get some sleep.'

Ginny pulled an empty cigarette box out of her coat pocket and told everyone to grab hold, ignoring their confused looks. She activated the portkey and the fourteen of them appeared in another alleyway that was not dissimilar to the one they had just left. Ginny lead all of them out round a corner to a cosy, homely and large cottage. She was greeted by a plump looking woman with very dark brown hair and friendly eyes who ushered them all in before drawing Ginny to the side.

'Is this all of them? You seemed uncertain over the phone how many there would be,' she asked gently in a soft Scottish accent.

'Yes, this is all of them. They are all malnourished and have been abused physically – I don't really know what state they're in mentally, I only asked for their names and ages.' Ginny took out a scrap of paper and quickly scribbled down names and corresponding ages.

'But there's only twelve names on there,' the woman pointed out.

'Yes, Mrs Devenham. One of them is a school friend of my son and I have offered him a home,' Ginny assured her.

'Ah, of course. Very well. I will make sure that each of them is given a new family and then forward their new addresses to you. Are you aware of how they are doing academically?'

'No, I'm afraid not. I will be back in a week's time to see how they are getting on.'

'Of course and thank you for helping. We've been after that bastard for years, but he's been eluding us. The police should be arriving at his hovel right about now.'

'Fantastic,' Ginny said, enthusiastically shaking Mrs Devenham's hand. 'Tom?' she called to the children, Riddle moving forwards, his eyebrow cocked in unspoken question. 'We're off now. The rest of you, I will be back in a week's time to see how you are.' Then Ginny placed a hand on Riddle's shoulder and with a sweep of her coat they were gone.

The two of them walked for a bout half a mile in silence before Ginny wrapped an arm tight around Riddle and disapparated, appearing back in the lounge area of the Queen Mary Hotel. Ginny hurriedly sat Riddle down on the sofa, ordering him to remove his shirt.

'Frisky, are we?' Riddle joked weakly.

'I want to see how bad you're hurt,' Ginny said in a no-nonsense tone.

'I'm fine,' Riddle protested.

Ginny looked at him through narrowed eyes before brightening and slapping him on the back. Riddle gave a yelp and cringed away from her. Ginny smirked and held out an expectant hand.

'And don't worry about your modesty,' Ginny said as he hesitated. 'If you think I'm a pervert, don't go talking to one of the other boys on the quidditch team. He took photos of each of you in the shower and posted them up all over the girls' dormitory. Yours is the most revered,' she said with a smirk.

Riddle's glare intensified, but he removed the shirt and chucked it at her face. Ginny caught it neatly and banished it. Then she asked him to lie down on his front on the sofa, resorting to whacking him on the head when he refused. Finally Ginny got to work on mending the large gashes in his back. She worked quickly and quietly as he endured it in silence. When the skin was healed over Ginny gently rubbed bruise oil into his skin, knowing that it would cause the bruises to have disappeared by morning. Then, ever so hesitantly, Ginny removed Riddle's trousers and pants. He did not protest, but his whole body tensed as she saw the bruising and realised what it meant.

Ginny had seen a lot of abuse when she and Harry were in the care of Voldemort, but never, _never_ had they stooped so low as to rape him. Ginny had never seen this kind of thing before, but it did not need an awful lot of insight to figure it out. Riddle's hips and thighs were covered in bruises that could only be caused by grasping, steel hard hands and the entirety of his buttocks was red and raw.

Silently Ginny continued rubbing in the oil, knowing that as it took away the bruising it could never take away the awful memories of how those bruises had appeared.

After she was done Ginny went into the room she had prepared for Riddle and found the pyjamas she had made for him. She placed them by his head where he still lay on the sofa and then turned away from him to her room, wondering how she was supposed to cope with this – how Riddle coped with it. After half an hour Ginny returned to the main room and removed the stasis spell from the plate of food, then set it on the coffee table. Riddle was staring into the fireplace unmoving. Ginny couldn't look at him as she sank into the armchair.

'So now you know,' he said flatly.

Something in his tone – maybe the lack of emotion, maybe the fact he didn't seem to _care_ – made Ginny want to curl up and die. She was the one who had told him that it would all be alright. So she curled her legs up into the chair and copied him, staring unmoving into the fire, oblivious to the hot tears that ran down her cheeks. 'I'm sorry,' she finally managed to get out, her voice hoarse.

'It's not your fault,' Riddle replied monotonously.

'But if I'd come a little sooner, if I hadn't taken you back in the first place it would never have happened,' Ginny stated, turning her shining brown eyes to him for the first time since she had finished healing the bruises.

'It's been happening for years, Craigson,' Riddle said. Then he let out a tight, humourless laugh. 'Never crossed anyone's mind that it was a little odd that I hadn't ever had a girlfriend. Not one.'

Ginny bowed her head. 'You have me,' she said quietly, not pausing to think what she meant by that.

'And what are you, Craigson? A friend? A girl of similar intelligence to me and a quick wit.'

Ginny smiled sadly up at him, then moved over to sit next to him on the sofa. 'Riddle – Tom. This probably isn't the time or place, and I know that Slytherins don't really 'date' as search, but would you like to go out with me sometime?'

Riddle looked at her, his eyes searching for the laughter and the tease that surely, _surely_ should be there, if not in her tone then in her eyes. But Ginny blinked back seriously. 'Why?' he said, his voice cracking. 'I'm broken.'

Ginny slipped her hand into his and entwined their fingers together. 'So am I,' she let out on a breath, leaning her head against his shoulder.

They sat for a long time, staring into the fire and wondering what was to happen next. The fire slowly faded to glowing embers, until they too flickered from existence. Slowly, reluctantly, Ginny pried her hand from his and showed him his room. Riddle nodded, in one gesture thanking her and bidding her goodnight. Ginny turned and closed the door behind her, walking slowly across the room until she reached her room, where she slipped easily out of her clothes and into a silk nightgown and then stretched out across her bed.

Tom Riddle. Once those words would have incited nothing but fear and hatred within her, but now… Now they held a promise of something that should be wrong but seemed so right. Lying curled up in the huge bed the hotel had provided Ginny wondered what it would be like to be kissed by Riddle – what it would be like to be loved by Riddle.

No matter what he had become in her timeline, this was not the same boy. The boy Ginny remembered from the diary had been a jerk, every atom a Dark Lord in training. But this Riddle was not. He was a school bully, for sure, but an inherent mad man planning to take over the world and torture and kill all those who did not fit the bill or got in his way? No. Riddle, this Riddle, her Riddle was not the same as the Riddle in the diary.

Ginny sat up straight in her bed. He never had been. He was similar – very similar, that was why it had taken her so long to figure out he was not the same – but he was not the same. Ginny was not the key to Riddle's change. Had Snape sent someone else back in time? To before now? Had they changed some tiny, almost imperceptible detail that had made everything different? If Ginny went forward fifty years in time now would she find a different world with everyone living peacefully?

Ginny's fingers found the time turner that still hung around her neck. She would not turn it again – but it was so tempting to look forward – to just take a peek. The smooth metal suddenly felt like ice beneath her fingers and Ginny shuddered at its warning. She didn't truly understand the implications of what she was doing – of the time she was changing, but she could understand what it might mean. Ginny felt like she could snap out of existence at any moment and wondered whether that would happen if she successfully changed time. If she would just disappear in a puff of smoke that revealed that she never truly existed.

Her thoughts wandered casually back to rest on Riddle. He was such an enigma. Ginny wondered whether he was already writing that diary that she would discover in fifty year's time and follow in his footsteps to opening the Chamber of Secrets.

She was missing something and she knew it. There was some vital piece of information that Ginny could not see that had an impact on anything and everything that was going to happen. The diary – was he writing the diary? Ginny tried to concentrate, but it was difficult after the long day she'd had. Maybe she should just leave her puzzling until the next morning. She had all of the Easter holidays before they returned to school and anything else could happen.

Wrapping herself warmly in the blanket and digging herself a hollow in the piles of cushions Ginny lay back down, remembering what it was like to hold Riddle's hand in hers. It had felt nice. She'd make sure to see that the rest of his bruises were healed in the morning and then they could eat an easy breakfast ordered to their room so they could have it as late as they liked. Then she'd talk to him some more about the Chamber of Secrets. Because if he wasn't Voldemort in the making then she needed to know why he was doing it and she needed to get him to stop.

Then they could spend the rest of the holidays doing anything they wanted. Now that Ginny knew how to replicate muggle money – without the muggles realising – they had a bottomless fortune that could take them anywhere they liked in the whole world. As sleep stole the hazy edges of these thoughts Ginny drifted closer to the soft oblivion that she knew, eventually, would taunt her with visions of the world's future and her past. The nightmares would come, but for now Ginny was happy to slip into sleep just as she remembered – as one always does in the state of half consciousness – that the first entry in the diary she had received from Lucius Malfoy was dated the day the students returned after the Easter Holiday.

* * *

_A/N: Hmm. Food for thought? I hope you all enjoyed it, and as always I must apologise for anything that I've got wrong – no beta and no want for one, I'm afraid. I'm not sure whether this chapter should be rated higher, but since there is no actual rape or violence, only the (strong) implication of it I'm going to leave it at T. If any of you are disturbed by it I send you my deepest apologies and tell you that although the characters will, of course, refer back to it, nothing more like this will happen.  
I would have left it out except I feel there needs to be a suitable explanation as to why Tom is so afraid of going back.  
For those of you who examine every little detail, yes, I know that the orphanage that Tom went to was not in London, but I figure, if Tom had to get to King's Cross every September and home from it every July he may very well have been transferred to a different location.  
Most of you will know that the year that this happens in (1943) the Second World War is still raging. I'm not sure how much this would affect the wizarding community, but I do know that it had a large affect on muggle London. Every man between the age of 17 and 40 was called up for the army (I think – conscription was introduced, but I'm not certain what the ages were) so I'm not sure how accurate my account of London is.  
I have no idea whether the outfits I described were indeed the fashions for 'rich young ladies' and 'kept women', but there you go. I also have no idea whether or not there is a five star hotel called The Queen Mary, I just made it up on the spot. Most of the story is adlibbed, rather than planned and that was no exception._

_Now, please leave me a review to tell me what you think of the story so far and fuel the engines of inspiration (seriously, I have a bunny in my head called Greg who is the source of all my inspiration and he lives off reviews. They are his carrots) you will be pleased to note that anonymous senders can leave reviews too now!  
C'iao for now and love to you all!  
Cal  
xxx_


	4. Seeing Red

_I saw you this morning, you were moving so fast.  
Can't seem to loosen my grip on the past.  
And I miss you so much, there's no one in sight.  
And we're still making love  
In my secret life._

_I smile when I'm angry. I cheat and I lie.  
I do what I have to do to get by.  
But I know what is wrong, and I know what is right.  
And I'd die for the truth  
In my secret life._

_Hold on, hold on, my brother, my sister, hold on tight.  
I finally got my orders,  
I'll be marching through the morning, marching through the night,  
Moving 'cross the borders  
Of my secret life._

_Looked through the paper, makes you want to cry.  
Nobody cares if the people live or die.  
And the dealer wants you thinking that it's either black or white.  
Thank God it's not that simple  
In my secret life._

_I bite my lip. I buy what I'm told.  
From the latest hit, to the wisdom of old.  
But I'm always alone, and my heart is like ice.  
And it's crowded and cold  
In my secret life_

_**Disclaimer: Harry Potter ™ belongs to JKR and WB. Song Lyrics (In My Secret Life) ©Katie Melua**_

_**

* * *

**_

4: Seeing Red

The two weeks heralding Easter passed quickly as Ginny and Riddle slipped into an easy familiarity around each other. Riddle was still, in many ways, unsure of how to act around Ginny; she knew things about him that no one else knew. But she also accepted him more than anyone else.

It was the little things that he liked the most. Like the way she decided what time breakfast would be, but it would be up to him to choose when – and where – to have dinner. And when they retired for the evening to their separate rooms she would reappear in his room thirty minutes after they said goodnight and would massage the bruise oil into his sullied skin. It was unspoken arrangement that just seemed to happen. Riddle would never admit it, but he loved the way her soft, chocolate eyes would sweep his form when he entered the room, appraising him and checking that he was alright in one look.

In his turn, Riddle did things that Ginny appreciated. Despite – or perhaps because of – his upbringing he seemed able to sense what restaurant served good food and had good service without having to look at the menu. He still kept his Slytherin mask in place most of the time, of course, but Ginny still saw the slight curve of his lips when she smiled at him, or when she took his arm. He relaxed more in her company, too. In some ways it was a great relief that Ginny knew almost everything about him and accepted him for it.

Because she did accept him. She accepted his past, and the way he lived now and she didn't try to change him. Ginny knew that somewhere along the line something had changed – a tiny, imperceptible little thing – but this Riddle, her Tom, was not the same as the Riddle in the diary. And she was happy with that, because it meant that he wouldn't become Voldemort and she had done what she'd come back to do.

It all seemed too easy. Ginny hadn't actually done anything. She'd annoyed him, argued with him, proven that she had an intelligence and wit to match his and saved him from the orphanage, but nothing more than that. She hadn't even put any effort into it; only done what she always did. Maybe that was it, but Ginny still had a niggling feeling that something was just wrong. She knew now that the diary started the day they returned from the Easter Holiday, so maybe the greatest trial was yet to come.

For now however, the pair were happy to enjoy each others company and the glories of London town. It was, perhaps, less spectacular than its usual glory, due to the war, but there were so many places to go – places to see. And, when they could not think of anywhere to go in London, Ginny would apparate them further away – to Liverpool or Manchester. Once she even took them down to the south coast, to a thriving tourist town with long, beautiful beaches.

Then they would return and the hotel would welcome back 'the new Mister and Missus Craigson' which, the first time he heard it, left Riddle choking on nothing. Ginny had quickly rushed him to their room, sniggering at him the entire time.

'Mr and Mrs Craigson?' he managed to get out.

'Well, I booked our rooms in my name and I guess they think we're on our honeymoon,' Ginny said, with an easy shrug of her shoulders.

'Honeymoon? As in _married_? To you?'

Ginny laughed out loud, a free, natural sound. 'Is there something about me that makes me un-marry-able?'

Poor Riddle had flustered for another moment, before he recovered and his emotionless façade fell back in place. He had taken her hand and bent to kiss it, more than a little startled when her lips snagged his on the way down. It was gentle, brief and teasing – for, the next moment Riddle straightened up, leaving the much shorter Ginny behind. She had laughed her goodnight to him then, and whisked out of the room, her summer dress twirling out around her. But she did not leave before Riddle caught the tiny flash of sincerity in her eyes.

That was the first of quite a few stolen kisses through the two week period – the most important of which the day they went to check on the other children from the orphanage. They were all doing much better, but most had to start their education from scratch and nothing could be done for the mental scars that they children had received. They had all individually thanked Ginny, one in particular marking herself in the older girl's memory.

'I want to say sorry for shouting,' the eleven year old told Ginny nervously, wringing her hands and fiddling with the bottom of her cardigan.

Ginny recognised the girl as the one who had shouted out against them, demanding to know why they were being sold like cattle. 'It's OK, sweetie,' Ginny told the girl, once again crouching down so she was the same height as her. 'If it was me I'd have done the same.'

The girl smiled at that and a pulse of… something washed over Ginny. When she investigated further she realised that this little girl would be joining her and Riddle in Hogwarts the following year – there was magic pulsing through her veins. Ginny turned to look up at Riddle, who had insisted on accompanying her. The flash of recognition in his eyes showed that he too saw this girl as another witch.

'It's Keara, isn't it?' Ginny asked the girl gently. Keara nodded. 'How would you like to–' but she was cut off by Riddle.

'No. Craigson, no. It isn't your fault that this happened, you can't just–'

'Riddle,' Ginny said, turning on the boy with eyes blazing. 'She needs to understand. She's one of us and since I'm the one with the money, you will just have to sit back and trust my judgement.'

But his words had set off her mind working, so Ginny stopped to consider for a moment before posing the next question. 'Keara, I'm going to be out of the country for a couple of months, but when I get back how would you like it if I adopted you?'

The girl stared at Ginny in confusion for a moment before launching herself at her, arms and legs curling around this young woman who was offering what seemed like the world. Ginny laughed. 'I'm guessing that's a yes, then?'

'Yes, yes, yes!' the girl cried, letting go and smiling widely at her.

Ginny took her by the shoulders and looked directly into Keara's eyes. 'You will have a lot to learn, and there may be quite a lot that seems too unbelievable to be true, do you think you can cope with that?' she asked, ignoring the snort that Riddle gave off.

Keara considered the question for a moment. 'Will you be there to help me?'

'Yes. Riddle will be, too. You'll have to get used to his sarcasm, though. But you'll soon see he's really all soft and squidgy on the inside,' Ginny replied in a whisper too quiet for anyone but the other girl to hear. Keara giggled and then gave Ginny a quick hug goodbye before she ran off to tell the others.

Riddle watched the exchange through narrowed, suspicious eyes, but did not say anything. Ginny soon made arrangements with the matron – Mrs Devenham – and money swapped hands before Ginny and Riddle left. He asked her why the matron thought Ginny had a son, and she replied by recasting the glamour so that he, too, could see it. Riddle had smirked then and pressed his lips to hers.

That kiss had been the first that he had stolen from her, rather than the other way around. It was also the only one that had deepened beyond just a swift peck of the lips. It left both of them with their mind reeling and smug smirks in place. Tom because he had such an effect on her and Ginny because she was right – he really was soft and squidgy behind that Slytherin mask. Not in a literal way, but in the way that he was just such a nice person when they kissed. Although _nice_ really wasn't the best way to put it.

The second week passed much as the first had, with the exception of Easter Sunday itself, when they both slept in and spent the entire day in their room reading and eating the mountains of chocolate that the Hotel had sent as compliments to their 'only honeymoon couple this season' which had both Ginny and Riddle chuckling. Perhaps this pretending to be married thing did have its benefits.

On the last day before their return to Hogwarts the two of them had gone on a boat trip that went down along the Thames, a little way along the coast and then back up to the docking point, stopping off at cafes, bars and shops along the way. They had risen early and the sun was starting to greet the horizon by the time the boat was making the final leg of its journey.

'You know, Craigson,' Riddle addressed her as they both leant over the railing to watch the river bank slowly drift past. 'I've been thinking.'

'Uh oh,' Ginny teased, 'that can't be good!' Then she ducked as he swiped at her head.

'Why do we still call each other by our surnames?' he asked in all sincerity.

'I don't know. Habit?' Ginny replied softly.

'I think I'd like it if you called me Tom,' he said in the same tone as her.

Ginny said nothing, but loosed her hands from each other and laid the one closest to him palm up as it rested on the barrier. Tom placed his hand in hers and they both watched as their fingers entwined. Then they both turned back to watching the bank as they steadfastly ignored the slightly pink tinge that their faces had got, even as they admired the effect of the blush on the other's features.

There were no kisses – stolen or otherwise – that night. They had simply said goodnight with smirks that showed the other how much they'd truly enjoyed each other's company. Maybe, though neither of them would say so, those smirks could really be counted as smiles. Proper smiles.

The next morning rose early and they rose with it, quickly packing their new clothes, along with the things they had bought at Diagon Alley to replace what Tom had left at the orphanage. As had become natural for them, they walked into the station arm in arm. To start off with it had been a necessity, to avoid the accusing gazes of the public at a young lady and young man being in the same company without an escort, then it became comfortable and now it was simply the way things were between them. They didn't really notice that it was unusual until they saw the raised eyebrows and speculative gazes of the rest of their year – specifically the Slytherins.

'Well, well, well,' Eileen said in greeting as she saw them, before wrapping Ginny up in a hug and nodding at Tom.

'Habit, Eileen. The hotel I've been staying at thought we were a honeymooning couple, and since it brought great benefits…' Ginny trailed off, her eyes sparking mischievously.

'I'm guessing you mean champagne and chocolate, not sex,' Eileen stage whispered, well aware that Tom and many others could hear her.

Ginny smirked, raising an eyebrow at her friend. 'Why exactly would the hotel staff be providing sex if I had him?'

Tom turned a beautiful crimson colour before he slipped his mask back in place and left the two girls to chat, stalking stormily onto the train, and snapping at anyone who got in his way. His behaviour only made Eileen and Ginny giggle all the harder.

'Oh, he's hot when he's pissed off,' Eileen said, following his progress along the train with her eyes.

'I think he's hot all the time,' Ginny told her. 'Besides, much as I know you love to appreciate the good things in life, try and keep your ogling to a minimum.'

'Are you going out, then?' Eileen asked, interest diverted from Tom.

Ginny shrugged, then frowned. 'I'm not sure. Kind of. We've kissed a couple of times and I did ask him out, but it's…'

'Complicated?' Eileen filled in with a knowing gaze.

'Yeah,' Ginny agreed on a sigh.

'Don't worry about it, Ginny, love. Everything about Tom is complicated. Just be thankful that you managed to get a kiss or two out of him. That's more than what anyone else has ever got,' Eileen told her.

Ginny smirked at her again. 'I'm flattered.'

By that time Katrina, Yuna and Matisse had turned up so conversation swiftly turned to what everyone had been doing over the holidays, giving time for Ginny to mull over her feelings for Tom.

He was definitely not the boy she remembered from the diary, and that comforted her even as it worried her. But Ginny knew, as she settled down next to him in the compartment he had found for her and the others, that there was little she could do about it at the moment. Besides, as she looked at that handsome face and blue-grey eyes she knew that she would do anything to keep harm from coming to him. Oh, yes. Ginny knew too well the signs and recognised that, whoever he really was, she was slowly but most definitely falling in love with Tom Riddle. And, if she wasn't very much mistaken, he returned the feelings.

He _was _a very complicated person, but Ginny knew that from the moment she had picked up the diary when she was only eleven. His past, though, wasn't nearly as complicated as he made it out to be. It was turbulent, yes and it had, no doubt, left scars that he would carry with him for the rest of his life. But it was simple. He was abandoned, abused and then given a gift that he never dreamed of deserving – magic. That magic gave him a power over others, and having to abandon it for the holidays was, for him, like giving up the ability to speak and hear.

'So, Gin, what did you do over the holidays?' Yuna said, swiftly turning the conversation back to Ginny and Tom.

Ginny yawned. 'I saved him from his orphanage by inviting him to stay with me, adopted the cutest little girl who also lived at the orphanage and will be joining Hogwarts next year and then spent the rest of the time lazing about London with Riddle here,' she drawled lazily at them.

'And he didn't bite your head off?' Katrina said, blinking dumbly at her.

Ginny raised a hand to check her head was still in place, ignoring Tom's raised eyebrows and Eileen chuckling quietly. 'Yep. Still there.'

'Wow,' Yuna said, shaking her head. 'and you adopted some kid? Aren't you a bit young?'

Ginny sniggered. 'Well, the matron thought I was a little bit older than I actually am–'

'She thought you were my _mother_,' Tom hissed dangerously.

'–so it actually wasn't all that hard. Plus, I'm only officially adopting her once we return home for the summer holidays so I'll only be looking after her when we aren't at school. How hard can it be?'

Eileen was laughing out loud by this time. 'Your mother!' she managed to get out.

'Actually she thought Tom was the school friend of my son, but otherwise… yeah.' Ginny said, watching as her friend tried to compose herself.

'Sorry,' Eileen said once she'd calmed down. 'That's just so weird.'

Ginny smiled ruefully, agreeing with her. It was a little odd.

'She called you 'Tom',' Matisse said to Tom, the curiosity obvious in his tone.

'It is my name,' the prefect replied stiffly, turning his gaze out of the window.

'Yeah, but–'

'Matty, leave it,' Yuna warned her brother. 'They'll tell us when they want to.'

Ginny smiled gratefully. She really did not feel like trying to explain her relationship to the others. Eileen had been OK, but she had understood. The dark eyed girl seemed to look at the world differently, more perceptively than most. Pity, really, that Snape hadn't inherited that characteristic of his mother – maybe then he would not have been so prejudiced against Harry and his unwanted fame.

'Ginny, you alright?' Katrina asked, nudging the other girl's knee.

'Huh? Oh, yeah,' Ginny replied with a flicker of a smile – gone as soon as it came.

'Remembering the past again?'

'Mm,' was Ginny's only response. She _really_ didn't want to talk about her past. She loved and respected her new friends, but they were different. They would never replace the gaping holes in her life that the deaths of her friends and family had left. In some ways, that was a good thing, but in others… Ginny was just the tiniest bit homesick.

Luckily the others took the hint and turned to a new topic – quidditch. Ginny listened half-interestedly, but was under no inclination to join the quidditch team of the past. Firstly it would be weird, playing against the red and gold team, rather than with and secondly it was too much of a reminder of her past. She wanted to be able to let go.

So Ginny tuned out the excited talk of her friends, not really noticing as another of the Slytherin boys entered and joined in the conversation. Not really noticing as Tom's hand clasped hers as they both stared out of the carriage window. Not really noticing that she fell asleep against Tom's shoulder. Not really noticing Tom's tiny, curving smile as she did so, or the speculative gazes of their friends. Not really noticing the utter contentment that settled over the small group.

* * *

They arrived earlier than normal at Hogsmeade station and were greeted by the usual horseless carriages that were waiting to take them up to the castle. Ginny paused to pat the nose of the thestral pulling their carriage, before climbing on. The others looked at her incuriosity, but Eileen smiled. She could see them too. Ginny raised her eyebrows at this, realising that she really aught to get to know the young Miss Snape better. Maybe it was too much to try and save her as well as the world, but right now the world didn't seem to be doing so badly.

Ginny and Tom found that when they linked arms to go to the Great Hall it no longer surprised anyone. In fact, Katrina went up to link her arm through Ginny's free one.

'So, tell me Gin, did you have a good holiday?' she asked.

It was a loaded question and they both knew it. Ginny chose not to answer, only smirking at her friend and raising an eyebrow at her, asking her why she didn't already know. Katrina laughed and shook her head despairingly.

Dinner that night for the sixth form Slytherins was a light affair. Ginny cautiously greeted the other two girls in her dorm; Georgia and Henrietta, and nodded to the two other boys who hadn't shared their train compartment. Then they settled down into light conversation about the holidays and the various exploits of the twins who, despite their quite, studious appearance, knew exactly how to rile people up.

It was shortly before dessert was served when Ginny caught sight of a familiar mop of hair on the other side of the hall.

'Excuse me, I'm just going to say hi to Harry,' she told her friends, ignoring the warning that Theodore gave and the raised eyebrows of Tom.

Ginny made her way along the end of the tables until she reached the Gryffindor room, ignorant of the fact that by the time she reached the opposite side of the hall almost everyone's eyes were turned to her.

'Hey, Harry,' she greeted the black haired boy, who stood and turned to give her a rib-cracking hug. He, too, was ignoring the glares of his fellow Gryffindors and the Slytherins and the interested, slightly afraid, gazes of the other half of the school.

'Hi, Ginny,' he said, letting her go and grinning widely. 'You have a good holiday?'

'The best, you?' she replied, drawling her words for the benefit of his classmates, but eyes flashing with the real humour she felt.

'Not bad, not bad. I'll see you sometime tomorrow,' he volunteered.

'Sure, see you around.' And with that Ginny made her casual way back to the Slytherin table, only noticing the silence when she looked at her friends, all of whom were looking at her at various stages of astonishment. Except for Eileen, who was too interested in her food.

'What?' Ginny asked, affronted. 'He's my friend, too.'

'We know, but did you have to do it during dinner, in front of everyone and make such a scene?' Yuna asked, rolling her eyes.

Ginny sniggered. 'Yeah,' she replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Riddle only responded by raising the eyebrow that wasn't already at his hairline.

'Oh, shush, Yuna,' Katrina chastised. 'If Ginny wants to bring Harry's attention to this table, _I'm_ not complaining.'

That caused another round of sniggers and broke the tension, everyone turning back to the dessert that had appeared on the table. Ginny looked up to see Tom's gaze still on her, and nudged his foot under the table, essentially reminding him where he was. His expression did not change, but his eyes warmed a little and he too turned his attention to the black forest gateau.

'Students,' Dippet introduced himself when the food was either finished or cleared away. 'I am sure you are all wondering what happened before the holidays, and we are pleased to announce that it was nothing more than a magical accident and Mr Wilson will be returning to us shortly before the summer exams, once Professor Slughorn has concocted the potion Madame Hollis needs. Now, I wish all of you goodnight and good luck with studying for your exams after the half term holiday.'

A universal groan went up and Ginny saw Dumbledore's eyes twinkling merrily. She herself was unworried about the exams. They would, of course, not be exactly the same as the ones she had taken at the end of her first time round the sixth year, but she had passed them with flying colours and she had an extra years practise this time round. There were five weeks before the one week holiday, and then two weeks of exams. Ginny had no doubt that the rest of her year and the year above and below would be studying fantastically hard. Ginny still remembered Hermione's chastising when she had caught Ginny and Harry kissing in the library, rather than studying.

Sighing, Ginny stood with the rest of the school, pushing Theodore away when he wrapped an arm around her, laughing at his and the other boys' antics. It was friendly and comfortable, this kind of banter. She watched Theodore's eyes linger on Eileen and rolled her own eyes. Really, for someone so insightful, Eileen had no idea of Theodore's crush on her. Not that he had a clue she had a crush on him either. Ginny glanced up at Tom, who had also seen where Theodore's gaze.

'Not tempted to play matchmaker?' he asked her, once again taking her arm in his.

'Oh, definitely. But I'll leave them to figure it out for themselves first,' Ginny replied, ignoring Tom's disbelieving face.

The sixth year Slytherins walked together down to the common room, Ginny and Tom bringing up the rear; watching their classmates joke around and catch up with each other.

It was a good thing, too, or else the others would have seen Tom's face suddenly light up with excitement and just a little fear. Ginny saw, though. Ginny saw and knew what it meant.

'The Basilisk?' she questioned softly. Tom answered with an abrupt nod. 'You should go and talk to her, then.'

'How do you know it's a her?' Tom questioned curiously.

Ginny shrugged, offering a half smile. She turned to face him, then took the back of his neck gently with one hand and tugged him down, kissing him. It was fierce, passionate, but at the same time caring and loving. Just like Ginny, Tom mused.

'Remember who you are,' Ginny breathed out across his lips when they drew back slightly. She didn't know for sure, but she had a bad feeling about this. She kissed him again, softly and briefly this time, before letting the hand at his neck fall. Ginny hadn't realised until then that his arms had come around her too.

Tom kissed her one last time before letting her go and disappearing off in the other direction. Her kiss had left his mind a little befuddled, but it had been oh-so-nice and wonderful and told him so much about her. Ginny could love like that kiss; he had never before realised that passion could be gentle too.

Ginny watched him leave with a slight, dreamy smile on her lips. She turned back to see Katrina and Yuna staring at her expectantly. Eileen, too, was waiting for her, but without the same expectation.

'Is there something you want to tell us?' Yuna asked, prodding Ginny in the ribs as she came up to take her arm.

'No,' Ginny replied honestly.

'Aw, you know you want to…' Katrina said, taking her other arm.

'Help?' Ginny asked plaintively of Eileen.

The other girl just laughed and shook her head. 'Nope, I want to hear this just as much as they do.'

Ginny pouted, but the other girls just dragged her the rest of the way to their dormitory and then demanded the full story. Ginny tried pleading the fifth, but none of the other girls knew what that meant and would undoubtedly not have let her get away with it anyway.

'I don't want to tell you guys anything,' Ginny whined at them as they tried, yet again, to pry the story from her.

'No, but we want to know,' Eileen reminded her.

Ginny turned her despairing gaze to the other two girls of the room, who had yet to say anything. 'Help?' she asked again, this time to them.

Georgia and Henrietta shook their heads. 'We want to hear this too,' Henrietta said.

'Yeah, Tom's never shown interest in anyone, much less kissed them,' Georgia agreed quietly.

Ginny huffed. 'Fine. Traitors.' The other girls all beamed back at her. 'I rescued Tom from his orphanage over the holidays, since I was kind of lonely on my own and he was the only one whose address I knew. Whilst we were at the hotel the staff there… presumed we were a honeymooning couple and sent us loads of chocolate and things. We didn't see reason to correct them.'

'So you're _married_?' Henrietta said on a breath.

Ginny turned to the girl in astonishment. 'No, we most definitely are not married. We just got so used to treating each other like a couple in public we, well, kind of became a couple,' Ginny finished her story.

Katrina burst out laughing. 'You two are so weird!' she said between giggles.

Ginny frowned at her. 'Well it's the truth!' Not all of it, but the truth nonetheless.

Eileen went over and sat next to Ginny, whispering in her ear so the other girls wouldn't here. 'That isn't everything, is it? I've noticed that Tom comes back after the holidays a lot worse of than when he leaves, but he came back this time just the same. Talk to me about it sometime?'

'You won't tell? Tom would probably blow up if he found out I told you, let alone anyone else,' Ginny replied, just as quietly, but twice as nervously.

Eileen gazed at Ginny a long time before answering. 'I promise not to tell. Perhaps there are some secrets that I have and don't want to be the only one knowing them anymore.'

Ginny nodded in understanding. She liked Eileen, and could see that the other girl had something she wanted, perhaps needed to tell her. She had never been able to turn away from someone who needed her help before, and now was not the time for her to start. So Ginny grinned and gave Eileen an impromptu hug.

'You know,' Eileen said, laughing. 'You hug people way more often than a normal Slytherin.' The other girls hastily agreed with her.

'Oh, you're just jealous that I got a hug out of Theodore and you didn't,' Ginny said, sticking her tongue out.

Eileen blushed and the other girls, sensing weakness, turned like a pack of proverbial hyenas to the scent of new blood. The six girls talked late into the night, only finally collapsing into sleep when the Head Girl, a fellow Slytherin with very straight blonde hair blasted into their room, shouting about the noise before charming their lights so that they would not turn on again until the following day.

As soon as she left the girls all started giggling, but followed her orders and settled into bed. In the darkness Ginny caught Eileen's eye and winked at her. The girl replied with her own wink before they turned over and drifted off to sleep, thoughts tumbling and strange as they tried to figure out the way their lives were heading.

* * *

The next morning something was different. No one could tell what exactly was wrong, it just was. The sixth year Slytherin girls went down as normal, causing there entrance and sitting down sedately, as if they didn't know every single eye in the hall was turned towards them. Ginny hid her grin and winked across the table at Riddle, who did not respond.

He saw her action, but there was no flash of familiarity in his eyes – no sense of amusement at all. He blinked at her and continued to eat his food. Ginny frowned at the action but thought maybe it was just their return to Hogwarts that had his change in mood. Her mind wandered back to the first date in the enchanted diary and she tried hard to pretend that it didn't bother her. For the most part she succeeded.

Ginny walked to her first lesson of the day, Charms, with Eileen and Francis, the cheery boy who she'd been partnering in Charms for a while now.

'So, what's wrong?' Eileen prompted as soon as they were out of ear shot.

'Tom. He's acting weird,' Ginny said quietly, then shook it off, saying in a falsely bright tone; 'I'm sure it's nothing.'

Eileen raised a questioning eyebrow at her, but the other girl decided not to push it, choosing instead to tease Francis about the bright pink of their usually green Slytherin emblem on his cloak. This plan to distract from the topic of Tom failed, though.

'Aw, come on, Prince. It's hardly my fault Tom was in a particularly vindictive mood this morning, now is there?'

Eileen winced at Tom's name, realising that it had been the wrong thing to say.

'Tom's in a mood this morning?' Ginny said, jumping to the subject like a dog to a bone.

'Don't get me wrong, Tom's always in a mood in the mornings–' Ginny nodded, remembering the mornings during the holiday when she'd tried to get him up early. '–but he was in even more of a mood this morning than usual.'

'Ginny?' Eileen prodded gently, seeing the look on her friend's face.

Ginny turned to Eileen with concerned thoughtfulness written all over her feature. 'I'm not sure, Eileen. I have my theories, though. I guess we'll just have to wait until third period.'

'Potions?' Eileen asked in momentary confusion.

Ginny quickly confirmed that, 'Potions. With Slughorn as a teacher and Tom as my partner.'

The other girl swiftly picked up the significance as they arrived at the Charms classroom and filtered through the doorway, both of them turning back to teasing Francis about his badge. Friendly conversation soon started up, but was cut across as their teacher entered the room.

Shortly after their professor's arrival it became clear – to Ginny's delight – that they would be talking about animagi. This was not a subject that would be covered in the future, so the material was new. Since Ginny was becoming more determined than ever to become and animagus she fell upon the information greedily, her notes more scribbled and accurate than any she had taken in previous weeks – even years. Eileen watched her with a very slight smirk on her face – the two girls both had a free period next so she'd get to the bottom of it then.

As for the teacher – he was a little baffled by the sudden attention from a student who previously had not paid much attention, but as all good teachers do he recognised that thirst for knowledge and found himself teaching three lessons worth of information in just one lesson simply for Ginny's sake. The rest of the class, though vaguely interested, spent the lesson doodling absently, contrary to Ginny's fastidious attention.

Consequently the end of the lesson came far too soon for the teenager, who, after bidding Francis goodbye, found herself cornered by the ever-perceptive Eileen.

'Have you started yet?' she asked, choosing not to introduce the topic of Animagi. They had, after all, been learning about it for the past hour.

'Started what?' Ginny asked, feigning innocence.

Eileen rolled her eyes. 'The preliminary potion.' _Duh_.

'I don't know what you're talking about, Eileen,' Ginny said, desperately trying to create the image of confusion and failing miserably.

'I'm not going to turn you in, you know,' Eileen assured her.

'But…?' Ginny continued, knowing that Eileen did not want to just stop there.

'But can I help? Become one too?' the other girl asked, fluttering her long, dark eyelashes at her in a pleading way.

Ginny sighed and ran a hand through her hair. She didn't want to say no, but she didn't want to say yes, either. Eileen was the closest friend she had in this time, and if Ginny had been planning this _before_ she most certainly would have told Luna – and probably Hermione, Ron, Neville and Harry, too. But she still felt alienated in this time. To her, it wasn't real, not really. It may be a life or death situation for hundreds that she was holding in her hands, but the whole situation was… surreal. It was one huge game that she only had one go at. If she failed she'd probably die. If she succeeded she'd probably disappear in a puff of non-existence. Either way, on a personal level, it was a lose-lose situation.

'Yes, OK,' Ginny agreed after a couple moments' hesitation. A slow grin spread across Eileen's face, her obsidian eyes glittering. 'But no one else can know. I have reasons beyond just wanting to try it out, and it needs to be kept secret.'

Eileen looked at her for a long moment, then shook her head very slightly. 'It's to do with Tom and you aren't going to tell me, are you?' It wasn't really a question.

'I'm sorry, Eileen. I have a million and one secrets that I'm bursting to tell everyone – anyone. But I can't. I just can't. One day, maybe, I'll be able to tell you about it,' Ginny paused for a moment, her eyes meeting Eileen's as she made her promise. 'One day, when we're wrinkled and old and have our grandchildren running around our feet I'll tell you the truth. The whole truth – everything. I doubt you'll believe it, and pass it off as senility, but I _will_ tell you.'

The words _'If we live that long,'_ hung between the two girls as the sat down in their usual spot in the library. Neither of them spoke their doubts – not wanting to make their admission verbal – but it was there, almost palpable in the dusty atmosphere.

'Listen, Gin… thanks. Something tells me that, if you could, you'd tell me everything right here and now. But there would be consequences,' Eileen started, uncertain where she was going.

Ginny nodded her affirmation. 'And, unfortunately those consequences far out weigh my need to tell someone.'

Eileen studied her hands for a long moments, the thin, nimble fingers winding and twining around each other in constant movement. Then a thought struck her. 'Why don't you write it down?' she suggested.

'What – in a diary?' her friend asked hesitantly.

'Sure, why not?'

Ginny blinked a couple of times before she realised that really was a very good idea. The idea of writing in a diary certainly brought back bad memories, but there was no chance of a repeat performance – especially if she bought a notebook new. Ginny had slipped easily into writing in the book everyday years ago, it would be easy enough to slip back into that habit, even if the book didn't reply. It also sparked of another idea.

There was no reason to give up on Tom just yet, as he may well just be adjusting back into school life, but if he ever did turn into the same boy Ginny had known in her first year, then she needed a plan. And now, thanks to Eileen's suggestion, she had one. And it wasn't nearly as complicated as splintering her soul and forcing a bit into a diary in the hopes he might pick it up and write in it.

Because, despite the fact she had talked mostly about herself when she was eleven, it was irrefutable fact that Ginny Weasley (Craigson, she reminded herself) knew Tom Riddle. Oh, she didn't know everything, but she knew an awful lot. She knew who his mother was, who his father was, who his mother's family were. She knew about the cave near his old orphanage. She knew about the new orphanage. She knew how to make him smile, or if not smile, then smirk. She knew how to interest, annoy, enrage, inspire, enrapture him. She knew who and what he liked and what he loathed. She knew his strengths and weaknesses. She knew who he was, more than anyone else ever had or would, of that she had no doubt.

Ginny knew she was probably making a big deal out of nothing. So Tom was in a mood this morning – that was no abnormality, especially in the morning. But the blankness in his eyes when she had winked at him earlier worried her. His emotionless mask was good, but even he was not the infallible. Maybe for someone else, but not for her; not after the two weeks they had enjoyed in each other's company getting to know the other, from their talk to their silences.

'Ginny?' Eileen asked nervously.

She glanced up and smiled apologetically. 'Sorry. Yeah, I will try the diary idea. It just made me think a lot about… things.'

Eileen gave a carefree laugh. 'Things,' she repeated.

Ginny grinned back, claiming innocence again. 'Things,' she confirmed.

The two girls looked at each other for a moment before a bout of unexplainable giggles overtook them for a few minutes, only fuelled by the furious glare of the librarian. They soon settled down into their studying, however. After all, Ginny's notes were nearly illegible and they needed that information if they truly intended to go through with their plan.

* * *

Ginny leant casually against the door frame of the potions classroom. Her classmates were milling around, chatting quietly, but she had eyes for only one of them. And he had not arrived yet. To the casual onlooker it would seem as though she had fallen asleep standing up, her eyes closed and her head tilted so the honey red hair was mussed slightly by the wall. Her school bag had slipped from her shoulder and was now pooled at her feet, blue ink slowly staining the flagstones, a clear sign it had been dropped.

But Ginny was not asleep – far from it. She knew that her ink was leaking, but did not care – all the books had protection spells and with a flick of her wand the ink would return to the pot anyway. But with her eyes closed it was easy to sense other peoples' magic.

It wasn't a precise art, as lots of people had very similar magical abilities, but you could tell someone apart from others by the amount of magic they held. Most people did not know they had this ability to sense magic, and those who did know knew that it was mostly a waist of time. Ginny was one of those who knew that. But with Harry and Tom it was not quite as pointless as it usually was. Ginny's… ex-boyfriend was cloaked in a soothing amount of power that, whilst it exceeded greatly those around him, could easily be mistaken for the average. It was a gentle, calming sort of power that took pride in its ability to sustain, rather than change.

Tom, on the other hand, was entirely different matter. There was more than one reason why people did not enjoy being around him, whether they were consciously aware of it or not. He _bristled_ with power. Every movement he made could be sensed by feeling his magic and Ginny had become acutely aware of this quite early on in their relationship. Being around that sort of magical capability was not painful, per se, more slightly discomforting. It was like when you bruised yourself; you knew it was their, couldn't help but notice, but it became a dull sort of ache in the background that you soon forgot even existed.

Of course, Tom had become proficient in masking the power he emanated, but he usually didn't bother. So, as Ginny stood there looking as though she was asleep she was actually awaiting Tom's arrival. It wasn't like hearing or smelling, but it was a strange combination of the two. Magic had a strange, sweet taste that tempted, yet threatened at the same time. The stronger it got, the more tangible it became, tasting stronger and smelling spicier.

Which was how Ginny knew of Tom's arrival outside the Potion's classroom ten seconds before he turned the corner and became visible. Visibly all she did was open her eyes and pick up her bag, a quick flick of her wand taking care of the spilt ink. Then she went back to leaning against the door frame, ignoring the class mates surrounding her and smiling benignly at the newcomer.

'Hey, Riddle,' she said casually. It seemed like nothing more than her usual greeting – only the Slytherins would know she had adapted to calling the boy 'Tom' and she had only talked to Eileen enough for any of them to see it as different. It was the first of a couple of subtle tests Ginny had set.

'Craigson,' he acknowledged.

First test: failed. But not to worry, they had only been calling each other by their first names for a day or so now. 'Back to surnames already? It was your suggestion I call you Tom in the first place.'

There was a silence of only about a second, but it was long enough for Ginny to know something was not right. Maybe not necessarily _wrong_, but certainly not right. Tom always had an answer or an excuse ready before you finished posing the question.

'But I did not imply that I would follow your example. You, after all, did not address me by my first name.'

That sounded a little more like him. 'True. But do call me Ginny,' she insisted.

'As you wish,' he acquiesced. Now that _really_ didn't seem like Tom. No matter what the subject or his opinions on it, if he could think of a way to oppose something with that much of an opening for an argument, he would take the opportunity. Not for any particular reason other than to disagree.

Slughorn chose that moment to make his entrance and shepherd the class into the potions lab. Tom stepped ahead of Ginny and she allowed him to, following quietly and observing his movements. He sat where he usually did and did not react as she slid into the seat next to him, taking out her potions book and writing equipment. It was at this point Ginny realised that Tom did not have his bag.

'Do you want to borrow some parchment and a quill?' she asked him, already getting the spare out of her bag.

He nodded once and took the objects from her. He frowned once at the bend in the end of the quill, where the feather had broken and lay unevenly. Ginny shrugged, a slight smirk dancing on the edges of her lips as she watched him without a hint of apology. Her equipment may not be the best, but they both knew his was worse.

'You have money, Ginevra, why not purchase a new pen?' he asked in an undertone as they began taking notes on Slughorn's lecture.

'I feel no great need. It still works and that is the important thing.'

'Perfection is prerequisite,' Tom murmured, more to himself than to Ginny. But she heard nonetheless.

'Prerequisite to what?' she inquired of him.

Tom stopped writing and glanced up. Ginny felt chilled to the core as she watched his eyes that now seemed entirely grey – no hint of colour in them at all. A curious little smile settled on his face. It was neither happy nor sad. In fact it was completely devoid of any kind of emotion at all. Yet there it was, curving across his face like it had been placed there by accident.

Then he leant towards her so that his lips were directly above her ear. 'I have a secret, sweet little Ginevra,' he whispered no louder than a breath. 'But I can't tell you. Not yet. But soon I will. Very soon.'

His voice sent shivers down Ginny's spine and it took her a moment to realise that she too had stopped writing, her hand shaking slightly as it hovered above the paper. Then she recovered herself and continued writing, her own smile, matching his, decorating her face. Pretty little doll-smile, more fake than her pretence that everything was normal.

He leant back and continued writing.

Then there was silence except for the scratching of quills. Even Slughorn's voice seemed to fade into nothingness as Ginny read what Tom was now writing on a clean sheet of paper.

_Ginevra Molly Weasley. Born on the eleventh of August 1981. Started Hogwarts at age eleven and was sorted into Gryffindor house. Fell in love with Harold James Potter, who died (circumstances unknown). She travelled back in time from 1998 to 1943. She decided, for reasons unknown, to lie about her age and birth date and restart her sixth year, despite receiving above average grades. Resorted into Slytherin house. Is known friends with Eileen Prince, Katrina Salvatore, Theodore Grant, Francis Parry, Yuna Yteshi, Matisse Yteshi and_

His pen paused then for an undeterminable amount of time. Perhaps it was mere seconds, but for either of them it could have been hours.

_Tom Riddle._

Ginny's blood ran cold, her face going impossibly pale. He stopped writing then and pushed the paper towards her. He knew she had read it – he was expecting a response.

Uncertain on how to react Ginny slowly ran her fingers over his elegant handwriting. In that truly beautiful script he had told her life story in only a paragraph. A slow smirk crept across her face as Ginny lowered her quill to the paper and began writing.

'Alright, class, you now have half an hour to complete the initial brewing. You will be completing the task on Thursday, off you go,' Slughorn announced and turned to sit at his desk, taking out a stack of papers and starting to go through them. The students immediately moved to start the task, talk already bubbling up.

Ginny folded the paper neatly and walked around the desk to get to the store cupboard and retrieve her cauldron. The note fluttered from her fingers and landed on the desk before Riddle. Then she turned away, watching him surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye. She saw his fingers – as elegant as his scripture – unfolding the note and his mask breaking momentarily. His normally pale skin turned that much whiter and his eyebrows rose considerably. But then the façade was back. And his emotionless smile was back in place.

Funny. Before now his mask had no expression at all. Ginny wondered vaguely where the smile had come from. As she turned fully away from him she allowed a tiny, victorious smirk to grace her features, remembering what she had written back.

_Ooh, well done! Except, you got one thing wrong. It is quite well known how my Harry died. He was murdered in cold blood… by a certain Mister Tom Marvolo Riddle._

Perhaps she shouldn't have told him. But it didn't really matter – he knew everything else, so why shouldn't he know this? Ginny didn't like to think about how he could possibly know all this, but for now she felt confident that she could taunt him for knowing only part of the truth.

The last half of the lesson passed almost exactly as it always did. Riddle did not attempt to add the wrong ingredients to the potions of those working around them, but tried with extra vigour to spoil Ginny's potion. Again and again he added the wrong ingredients or gave the potion and extra half stir as Ginny was occupied with preparing the next part. Ginny did not know this potion, she had never studied it before, but she knew what counter acted the things he changed, so she acted without saying a word.

She did not whistle like she did sometimes and only those who knew the dynamic between the pair could tell the difference between their usual working atmosphere and now. Before it had been – whilst not friendly – a companionable silence. Now the air was thick with unspoken words, accusations, insults and they berated each other with their eyes.

By the end of the lesson Ginny's potion was exactly as it was supposed to be, though her cauldron contained somewhat more than the others. Slughorn noticed this and raised an eyebrow, a sympathetic twitch of his mouth the only sign that he knew what had been happening. Oh, he had always known, but as he had yet to catch Riddle in the act there was very little the teacher could do.

Ginny packed her things away in continued silence, her throat thick with boiling fury. The boy was insufferable! Riddle watched her actions with a slight show of actual amusement in the ever-constant smile-that-wasn't. Whilst he had failed in sabotaging her work he had succeeded in the main aim of his actions – infuriating her.

Ginny followed her nemesis from the room, her bag swinging and bouncing against her thigh, the brush of it against her school uniform and their footsteps the only noise as the rest of their classmates disappeared as quickly as possible down the corridor to get to lunch.

'How did you find out, Riddle?' Ginny asked easily, quietly. She had already reverted back to calling him 'Riddle' in her mind due to his actions.

'A little birdie told me,' he replied in an utterly serious tone.

'What other stories did your songbird sing?' she quipped, playing his game.

Riddle's smile grew ever so slightly and he turned his head a little so he could see her expression. 'Oh she told me many things. Including the way you let the little mudblood fuck you into the mattress like the wanton whore that you are.'

Ginny stared at him in shock at his little outburst – the insults falling so casually from his tongue as though he was stating the state of the weather.

This was not the Tom Riddle she had come to know over the last couple of months since Christmas. This was the Tom Riddle she had spilled her heart and soul to during her first year. The Tom Riddle who had so callously tossed her life aside in the attempt to get his own back. Pity he had failed, really. He had become ugly as his soul had bits hacked off of it over and over again. And if she had died? Well then at least she would be at peace. At least then she wouldn't be in this complicated, confusing maze Snape had thrown her into. There was more here than anyone had ever realised and she had been tossed straight into the middle of it. Ginny only hoped she could escape with her sanity in tact.

As it was, his words were the final straw for Ginny. His magic may be strong, but it was relaxed and almost… hampered by something. In contrast, she was a burning pit of emotions, each one sparking and fuelling her magic so that it reached an energy level it had only ever once reached before when Ginny had been told the final battle had started before anyone was ready. Then she had been incensed. Now she was furious.

He was standing before her with a broad smirk telling her that he knew exactly what he was trying to do, but Ginny was, for once, happy to let him rile her up. If it ended up with him getting what he deserved (and she would see to it that it would) she was quite happy to follow his lead. He stood there and practically beckoned her to attack him.

Blinded by her temper Ginny disregarded her wand, choosing instead to punch him squarely on the jaw. Unfortunately she had never really punched anyone before and so the power behind it was lost in bad technique – making her hand hurt as much as his jaw. But Riddle did not seem to want to attack back. He just continued to smirk at her.

Ginny lunged towards him and the dagger that he had drawn from his pocket slipped easily between the material of her jumper and skirt, then sliding like it was penetrating butter between her ribs. Ginny, somehow did not stop moving and managed to slam Riddle bodily against the wall behind him, the only sign she gave of receiving a wound was the slight intake of breath that caused her breathing to falter a moment before it once again evened out.

Placing her left hand over the wound Ginny carefully withdrew the blade with her free hand. She looked up at Tom's cool, nonchalant gaze she thrust the weapon through his left hand, finally getting a furious, roaring response. She staggered backwards a couple of steps, watching stoically as Riddle howled, his hand bleeding almost as quickly as her stomach. No doubt someone would have heard him and would be heading down to find out what was wrong, but right now Ginny couldn't bring herself to care.

Then, somehow, she managed to find a peace within the swirling whirlpool of her emotions – the eye of the storm. She clamped both hands over the point where the dagger had entered her and once again looked up to meet his gaze.

'Are you scared yet Tom?' she asked calmly, her brown eyes almost black. 'Is breathing suddenly difficult? Is your heartbeat getting faster and faster? Because if it isn't then you're a fool.' Her eyes fluttered shut, her face looking terribly pale and drawn. Then she leant against him, one hand reaching up to clutch the blade wedged into the wall, the other trying to staunch her blood flow, but only spreading the dark, sticky substance everywhere. Ginny leant up and pressed a kiss to Riddle's jaw.

'Do you remember this?' she asked. He turned towards her, trying to figure it out, but all in vain. Ginny pressed her lips to his, fiercely trying to bring him back, trying to get her Tom back. But he did not respond to her and Ginny felt her legs start to tremble beneath her.

'Don't you remember at all?' she asked desperately.

Riddle watched dispassionately as Ginny then fell to the ground, the dark stain of her blood growing larger by the second. With a little difficulty Tom managed to wrench the dagger from his hand and the wall. He leant over the girl on the floor and wiped the blade quickly on her robes before he slipped it back into his pocket. Casting a healing spell on his hand Riddle stepped over Ginny's prone body and walked off with a slight spring in his step.

As he walked away he whistled a childish tune – a silly little song magic folk teach their children.

* * *

_A/N: Do you want me to supply the du-du-duuuuun noises, or are you capable of producing your own?_

_Yes, yes, I know! Tom is evil! Muaha, finally. So many people have been telling me that Tom isn't evil enough, well (with a little tinkering and arguing with Greg, that muse of mine) I have come up with a plot that will cover it! So, I now present the new, evil, dark-lord-in-training Tom! He is evil enough now, right? I dunno, it's hard to write people who are evil. Especially since I don't believe in 'good' and 'evil' – there's sick, masochistic, confused and sadistic, but no evil. It's all down to psychology, of which I know nothing. Aaaaanyway, what I'm trying to say is I find it hard to write truly evil people. Especially ones as cute as Tom.  
I've also come up with a gorgeous little twisty bit in the plot line that you people should (hopefully) adore, and keep me away from the 'omg, this story is soooo cliché' reviews. Talking about reviews… please leave me one? It really makes my day, and it stops my inspiration from going away on holiday. Which is good, considering how often he likes doing that. Yes I have personified my muse/inspiration/plot bunny/whatever. His name is Greg. He's cool._

_And, no, you don't need to tell me I'm crazy, my friends see fit to inform me of this daily. But thanks for your concern._

_But, yeah, please leave a review and thank you so much for reading so far!! I can't promise when the next chapter will be up, except I hope it's soon, just like you guys!  
Lots of love to all you wonderful people,  
Cal  
xxx_


	5. Learning the Heart

_I heard that lately,  
You've gone through a mysterious change.  
People say you're secretive,  
And you've been acting strange.  
They say there's magic afoot stay away they all warn,  
But to me you were magical from the day that you were born_

_I have become spellbound,  
Spellbound.  
You lifted me up high,  
Now I don't know how to get down.  
I don't know how to get down._

_You're very different,  
You are so rare.  
Some kind of witchcraft,  
Is flying through the air.  
I'll admit I can't explain why I feel how I do,  
So you must have cast a spell,  
That's why my life feels new._

_I have become spellbound,  
Spellbound.  
You lifted me up high,  
Now I don't know how to get down.  
I don't know how to get down._

_I don't know how to get down_

_**Disclaimer: Harry Potter ™ belongs to JKR and WB. Song Lyrics (Spellbound) ©Katie Melua**_

_Brownie points go to ricekrispies for being the first to spot the 'mistake' in the previous chapter. If you didn't see it I'm not going to tell you! All I'm going to say is take another look at the last sentence of the previous chapter… Now, onwards:_

_**

* * *

**_

5: Learning the Heart

It hurt. If you asked he would hex you and if he tried telling you of his own free will he wouldn't be able to tell you. He wasn't really conscious of the hurt – it was more like a bruise that you knew was there, but you're also unaware of. A knowledge that something is wrong – though you might not be sure how or why.

Riddle was very aware that something was wrong, but he couldn't tell what. He felt normal, and he felt as though he was acting normally. But he also knew that it was not within the boundaries of normality to stab one's best (girl-?) friend and leave her for dead. It was also not normal to feel _happy_ about that fact. Because he did. Two corridors away the only person who had got under the defences surrounding his heart was lying in a pool of her own blood and he was feeling _cheerful_.

He also didn't know how he'd known those things about her – that she was from the future. He'd just seen her waiting for him outside their Potions classroom and he had instinctively known that she was from the future, that her surname was Weasley, that her previous boyfriend had died… although he hadn't known he would kill her future (past?) boyfriend. But, somehow, it didn't worry him. He hadn't even felt particularly betrayed by the fact she had been lying to him all along. Because they were her secrets. Which meant that he could keep secrets from her.

Like, for example, that promise he had made of closing the Chamber of Secrets. One death. That was all, he just wanted to see some silly little mudblood fall to the floor dead. Not petrified, _dead_. Just one. Then he would close the Chamber and they would all carry on like normal.

Except he knew it wouldn't go back to normal. Deep down inside Riddle knew things would never be normal again. Because Ginny wouldn't forgive him. She would know and he would have to watch her accusing glare across the table every meal time. Or perhaps she would ignore him completely, not even looking at him. Riddle couldn't decide which fate would be worse.

That, of course, made up his mind. Two. Two deaths. One stupid little mudblood – it didn't really matter which one, any would do – and _her_. Riddle felt sure he could do it. If he could look her in the eye and stab her in the gut, then he could kill her. Supposing she wasn't already dead from blood loss. The thought made his throat constrict slightly. He didn't want to kill her, it was just a necessity. Like pulling off a plaster. Do it as quickly and as smoothly as possible. Riddle nodded. Yes. Like a plaster.

Maybe he should leave it for a while, though. Riddle was not yet seventeen and whilst by muggle laws he could live alone, he would have to do so without magic. That thought was intolerable. It reminded him acutely of the orphanage. Without magic he had been weak, helpless, _powerless_. With magic he could have killed the bastard. And he would have done. Riddle was contemplating – no, had _decided_ that he was going to kill Ginny. Planning the murder of that… that… no name was good enough for him. But killing him would be easy. So, so easy.

Because Riddle had sensed that power. When his blade had slipped between Ginny's ribs all he had to do was angle it upwards slightly and he would have punctured her lungs. Then she wouldn't be able to scream. Each breath would have become harder and harder until it was quite impossible, then she would have started coughing up her own blood, her faces, fingers, toes and ears turning paler and paler as she choked on her blood, unable to breath in. She would have passed into unconsciousness and her body would have fallen still. Then her body would be spurned into action in one last ditch attempt to live. She would not have woken and before long she would give up and die.

Riddle could have done that and watched her. Watched her writhe with fear and pain as she suffocated. He could have stood over her and done nothing, nothing at all. But he had not. It was not that the thought had not occurred to him, in fact, it had been quite a dominant thought in his mind at the time and he would not have lost any sleep over it. One delicate, fragile life out like a candle – like that was something to cry about.

But something had stayed his hand. What it was Riddle could not tell. It was certainly not any feelings he might have for the girl. There was no doubt he felt _something_ for her - but feelings were so easily ignored. And it certainly wasn't any debt he might think he owed to her. Because Riddle never owed anything to any one. He took as much as he could and did little – if anything – in return. So what was it?

Riddle decided he didn't care. So the girl was alive for now. No matter, she would be dealt with. Not yet, though. He would wait. Because the best things in life had to be waited and worked for. And there was no doubt that the Slytherin Prince would put hard work towards something he wanted – especially if it was someone else's hard work.

Reaching the Slytherin common rooms Riddle hastily swung his bag over onto his bed and turned to get to the Great Hall for lunch as quickly as possible. After all, it would be the last thing he wanted if he had no alibi for when a student was attacked. Not that it mattered. It seemed as though the entire school was alive with gossip about the newest 'it' couple. Ginny and Riddle, who would have imagined? And, of course, a boyfriend _never_ murdered his girlfriend.

Riddle's whistling turned to humming, the emotionless smile now constantly curving across his mouth suddenly showing a little of the malicious glee that he felt, but that was soon gone as he made his way down to the hall. After all, he didn't want anyone to see how he felt. Riddle prided himself in masking his emotions. That pride, however, would soon be severely dented as his mask dropped completely as he walked into the Great Hall.

'Hey, Tom,' Ginny called cheerfully, waving from her regular spot at the Slytherin table and allowing everyone to revel in the shock plastered across Riddle's features.

* * *

Being stabbed in the gut, Ginny decided, was a right inconvenience. Firstly, it _hurt_. She hadn't really noticed the pain to start off with because she had been so angry with Riddle, but she soon became all too aware of the white hot pain emanating from her lower torso. Secondly, it was messy – not only did Ginny have to heal herself, but she had to clean up all the mess as well. Which, of course, lead to the third and final of Ginny's pet peeves about being stabbed in the gut by a supposed friend. It left her absolutely drained.

Sometime after her legs had given away Ginny had blacked out. She never had been particularly good when it came to handling blood loss – not like Harry, who probably would have been able to stay awake as every last drop of blood had drained from his body. As it was Ginny was only out for about half a minute. It was enough time for Riddle to leave and for Ginny to regain enough of a handle on her emotions to think about the situation sensibly.

Once she had woken Ginny had set about doing the most important thing – healing herself. As she set about chanting the stronger healing spells Ginny intercepted the traditional incantations with long strings of fruitful swear words, some of which Ginny hadn't realised she knew and most of which learnt from various shady characters at some point in her past and the world's future.

Healing takes a lot of hard work, concentration and precision. And, as Mad-Eye loved to remind them – Constant Vigilance. As such, very few witches and wizards fully qualified to be Healers. However, to be able to heal someone else and to be able to heal yourself are two very different things and, whilst Ginny had struggled to learn how to heal others, when it came to her own body she could work meticulously, so long as she had silence. A deserted corridor with only a bit of blood for company was perfect and it took Ginny no longer than five minutes to be able to heal herself.

She had not done her best work, as there was still a thin, snow white scar marking where the blade had entered her, but it was enough and Ginny still wanted to have enough wits about her for what she had planned. Judging from Riddle's cheerful mood and his habit of always returning his bag to his room before going to a meal it would take him another ten minutes to get to the Great Hall. Which meant that Ginny had enough time to get there first.

Casting a quick Scourgify on the bloodiest areas, Ginny placed a light glamour over the other the rest so that the corridor looked completely normal. Then she shrank her bag, slipped it into her pocket and started jogging along the corridors to the hall. Ideally she could have done with a couple of hours bed rest and a vial of pepper-up and blood replenishing potion, but as that would involve either brewing them herself or asking either Slughorn or Dippet for them Ginny guessed she'd have to do without.

_Good thing I now have all of lunch,_ Ginny mused as she slipped into the hall, raising a friendly hand and smiling to her fellow Slytherins. She offered a wink to Harry, who had looked up from the Gryffindor table as she entered and then walked confidently over to sit down next to Theodore.

'Where's Tom?' Eileen asked her, chucking an apple at the other girl.

Ginny caught the fruit with a rueful grin, taking a bite into it before answering. 'Returning his bag to the dorms.'

'And you didn't?'

'Why bother when there's such a thing as reducio?' Ginny asked, one brow arching in question.

Eileen smiled her agreement. 'Oh, look, there's Tom now,' she said, nodding towards the door.

Delighted that she'd have the upper hand this time round Ginny turned with a confident smile and waved at Riddle. 'Hey Tom,' she called, revelling in the shock that immediately spread across his features – for once going unheeded.

Seconds later the mask was back and Riddle's eyes were sparking with amusement, annoyance and what seemed very much like reluctant admiration. There was also no uncertain amount of pensiveness there as well as he strode towards his seat in his normal confident swagger.

'Ginny,' he greeted her, then, 'I thought you went back to the classroom?' _I thought you were bleeding to death._

'Oh no, turns out my text book was in my bag all along, stupid mistake to make, I know.' _Puh-lease, like that could stop me, _she replied benignly, munching on her apple.

Tom raised his eyebrows at her, catching the extra hidden message in her last comment – _stupid mistake on _his_ part._ 'What did you do with your bag?' _What did you do to your wound?_

Ginny rolled her eyes, making Eileen snigger into her pumpkin juice – even though her friend was only picking up half of the conversation. 'I shrunk it. I realise that you think that magic that easy is beneath you, but it does come in handy.' _I healed it. No thanks to you, but luckily I'm quite proficient at it._

'Shrunk it.' _Healed it, _he repeated disbelievingly.

Ginny nodded. 'I'll prove it to you, if you like,' she offered, there being no second meaning to this comment, though she meant the healing charm, rather than the miniature bag in her pocket.

'You mean a shrinking charm isn't completely beyond you?' _How can you still be standing after that amount of magical effort needed?_

'Certainly not. Though, of course, I could definitely do with a long sleep and couple of doses of pepper-up potion,' Ginny replied sarcastically, though Riddle knew when it came to the separate conversation she was being utterly serious.

'You'll have to tell me all about it later.' _Show me later. _Sarcasm masking a request that was, in all actuality, an order.

'Yes, dear.' _In your dreams. _Sarcasm masking a declination to do as Riddle asked that was, in all actuality, a down right no.

Theodore snickered at her last comment, and Ginny glanced over at Eileen, who rolled her eyes, a smirk clearly present on her face. The others obviously didn't know about the opposite face of Ginny and Riddle's conversation, but they understood enough to know that Ginny had the upper hand and that the conversation was over, so talk turned to a killer Charms essay and an upcoming Ancient Runes test.

Ginny joined in the gossip with the occasional, quite often sarcastic, remark, but the whole time she watched Riddle. Whether it was out of the corner of his eye, of he was blatantly staring, Riddle's eyes did not leave her once, much like Ginny's gaze did not leave him. The two of them were back to dancing their dance, but this time it was a lot of complicated and a lot less merry.

Twenty minutes later and both of them were done eating and were listening with only a vague pretence of being interested in what the others were saying.

'Gin,' Riddle said, suddenly. He was quiet, but he immediately had her attention. 'Do you want to – I don't know – go somewhere for a bit?' He made it sound so much like a nervous teenage boy asking out his crush for the first time, but the truth of his request did not escape Ginny. _We need to talk._

Ginny crushed a small, curving smile onto her features and allowed a little colour rush to her cheeks. 'Yeah. Yes, ok,' she agreed, acting perfectly the nervous teenage boy's counterpart. But it was not what Riddle heard, interpreting instead; _Yes, I know._

Eileen grinned widely at Ginny, obviously thinking that whatever Ginny had been nervous about that morning over breakfast was no longer an issue. Theodore, sitting opposite Eileen, sent a suggestive wink to Riddle, not realising that Ginny could see it too. Ginny smacked him lightly across the head before leaving them and practically skipping to the end of the Slytherin table, instantaneously looping her arm through Riddle's when he arrived next to her at a more sedate pace. Accompanied out of the hall by more than a few wolf-whistles the young 'couple' quickly sought out an empty classroom.

It took them fifteen minutes to find an old enough, dusty enough, abandoned enough class room to satiate Riddle's need for privacy. Ginny immediately put up several wards, including a silencing spell, a privacy spell and, with a roll of her eyes, a deflecting spell on the door.

'So, Tom,' Ginny started pleasantly, adding a locking spell to the door simply for the sake of it. 'Are we going to talk like civilised human beings or yell obscenities, resulting in a repeat performance from that pretty little knife of yours?'

Riddle considered the options Ginny offered with an air of utmost solemnity for a moment. 'I'll say normal conversation, but I can't promise anything.'

'Of course not,' Ginny agreed almost sympathetically to his dry humour. 'Now that I think about it, can I have a look at the dagger?'

Warily Riddle withdrew the blade from his cloak and, though he hesitated, passed it to Ginny. The girl took it gingerly, flicking it once, twice and holding it up to the light. The blade itself was a simple, straight edged knife, but the handle was something else. Ginny surveyed the intricate design through narrowed eyes. Predictably it was carved with several snakes, each with a different design of scales along its back. What was out of the ordinary was the way the snakes seemed to move, weaving in and out of each other when you didn't look at it too closely.

Riddle watched in slight amusement as Ginny opened her left palm and dragged the blade across it, leaving a dark magenta line behind. She winced, but with a quick, silent wave of her wand the cut was gone. An inexplicable expression crossed Ginny's face before she threw the blade back to Riddle. It was balanced perfectly, so sailed in an elegant arc over the space between them. Riddle reached out a hand to catch it, accidentally catching the blade rather than the handle, small streams of blood soon appearing between his fingers.

The boy said nothing, his expression never changing as he put away the dagger and quickly healed and cleaned his hand.

'Sorry,' Ginny apologised, though she wasn't really. 'Harry had excellent reflexes. I forget sometimes that not everyone has them.'

They both knew she was lying.

'The blade's alright, though.'

'Alright?' Riddle asked, cool grey eyes flickering.

Ginny snorted. 'What, do you want me to say it's good?'

'That would be nice,' he said lightly, though his expression did not echo it.

'Well then you've shown it to the wrong person. Materially the blade's good. Magically it's crap,' she told him bluntly.

'Excuse me?'

Ginny fought the urge to laugh. 'I'm not–' she cut herself off before she said emo. He wouldn't recognise the slang. '–suicidal, you know. Or depressive. I cut my hand to check something out.'

Riddle didn't say anything in response, the most invitation to continue talking that Ginny had.

Deciding it was better explained without word Ginny took her back out of her pocket, returning it to its original dimensions before opening a pocket that was magically sealed. She retrieved the swiss knife Hermione had given her on her last birthday.

'Give me your hand,' she ordered.

Riddle slowly put forward his left hand, palm up like she had done earlier. Holding his hand in place Ginny used her free hand to slice open his flesh. Riddle said nothing.

'Now try and heal it,' Ginny requested pleasantly.

Happy to acquiesce Riddle drew out his wand and chanted the usual, simplest healing spell, episkey. He felt a familiar wave of heat then cold pulse through the palm of his hand, but when the spell was done it seemed to have done very little, except reduced the amount of bleeding. Stepping the level up, Riddle cast two more charms, each more powerful than the last and eventually managed to produce a thick, ugly scab to cover the cut.

Watching with mild amusement Ginny took back Riddle's hand when he realised he could do no more and cast a silent healing spell over it, so his hand returned to normal.

'What did you do?' he demanded to know.

'There's a powerful charm over the knife that means that anyone trying to reverse the effects of the blade will have great difficulty, as you demonstrated. Luckily for you this particular charm recognises me as the veto vote, so I can heal whatever effects caused with no more difficulty than normal,' Ginny explained with an easy shrug of her shoulders, watching with interest as Riddle devoured this information.

'So if I stole the blade, it would respond to me?' he asked.

'No. It responds only to myself and the caster of the charm.'

'Who is…?'

'Long dead,' Ginny said, her thoughts going back to when Hermione had been fiddling around with the spell. It had taken her a month or so to do, but the brilliant young witch had finally cracked it and immediately made one for everyone in the Order. When asked why she too could control the healing process Hermione had shrugged and told them something to do with magical signatures and ancient rites.

'Do you know how to cast the spell?' Riddle demanded to know, ignoring the far off look in Ginny's eyes.

Snapping back to the present day Ginny shook her head. 'No. It was made by a friend of mine; she didn't explain the mechanics of it.'

'But if I had that spell on my dagger you wouldn't have been able to heal yourself?'

Ginny shook her head; no. 'You don't understand. The spell does not make it _impossible_ to heal, just very difficult. So if you used it on a muggle, it would be for them like being stabbed with a normal dagger. It is only because wizards and witches are so reliant upon magic that the charm is worth casting,' she explained.

Riddle nodded slowly. 'So if the curse was on my dagger and I stabbed you…' he trailed off.

Ginny let out a bubble of laughter. 'It doesn't make it _impossible_, just very difficult,' she reiterated. 'You have to remember that in my time–' there was no point denying she was from the future, since he already knew. '–I was in the middle of a war. And I don't mean this muggle fiasco, I mean a war of dark and light magic that has the entirety of the British Isles and the majority of America, Europe and Russia in its deadly grasp. And my friends and I were at the very centre of the battle. So when it comes to healing spells I know my stuff.'

'What, couldn't you even fight?' Riddle mocked.

Ginny raised her eyebrows very slightly and advanced slowly towards him. She was a good head shorter than him but she had a slight, wiry build that was emanating power and ability as she approached him. 'Do you know what it's like, Riddle?' she asked, glorying in her pronunciation of his name. 'To have someone curling up _backwards_ at your feet as you hold them in crucio? To have to rely entirely on instinct, because thought is too slow when there are hexes coming towards you from every direction?' Ginny had reached him now and whilst Riddle had not retreated, he had lost a lot of his cockiness to interest at this point. Ginny slowly raised herself onto tiptoe and whispered into his ear, disturbing the midnight black hair resting there, 'Do you know what it's like to make love on the eve of battle, losing all abandon because you know that either of you could die the next day?'

It was, in many ways, a slow, merciless seduction – their own, unique kind of foreplay. But whether it was seduction to battle or bed, neither of them knew of cared. Both Riddle and Ginny were lost in the moment, their senses twice as perceptive and hair standing on end as they waited for the next move. It did not matter who they were in that instant, other than two lonely souls, both of them thirsting for love and revenge, though neither of them truly knew it.

Ginny ran her hand to the bottom of her jumper and pulled it up ever so slightly so that Riddle could see the scar that his blade had left. He let out a low hiss of approval. Whether it was an incomprehensible noise or some kind of message in Parseltongue Ginny did not know. In this state of confusion between them she was also unaware whether he approved of the mark his attack had left, or because he wanted to see her bare skin.

He reached out slowly with the utmost confidence, running a long, elegant finger along the short scar, then sliding his hand round under her jumper to the hollow of her back and tugging her towards him. As her body met flush against his they both let out a short gasp of surprise. She raised her eyes to meet his and they stood for a long moment just staring at each other.

'You don't hate me,' he remarked coolly, moments later.

'No,' Ginny said with a smirk. 'I only hate the idea of you.'

'I'm going to kill you,' he told her factually.

Ginny nodded her head in affirmative. 'Yes, I'm sure you will. In one life time you already have.' She didn't mean literally, of course. But Voldemort had murdered everything she held dear – her entire family, all of the Order, Harry, Hermione, Neville, Luna, all of her past boyfriends… the list went on and on. And as each death had reached her ears she had died a little more inside. Now she wasn't sure how much heart she had left. Oh, she still had compassion and hope and the ability to build friendships, but whether Ginny would ever truly be able to love like she had loved Harry was, at this point, well and truly in the realm of the impossible.

In the same moment the teenagers stepped away from each other and, after realising that it was nearly time for next lesson, hurriedly lowered the protection and privacy charms moved together to their Defence lesson. As they appeared, with slightly dishevelled appearances and eyes bright with emotions close to the surface they were the perfect image of a young couple reappearing after a thorough snog session. No one looked close enough to see that neither Riddle, nor Ginny had any signs of actually being kissed.

* * *

Dumbledore watched his student appraisingly from his position in the air. Ginny stood in the centre of the room with her eyes closed and her arms slightly raised behind her. The air was thick with magic as everything in the room – with the exception of Ginny herself – floated a few feet off the ground. Ginny's wand was stuffed in the waistband of her skirt and a slight frown marred her features as she tried to follow her teacher's advice. He had told her to wandlessly levitate all the items in the room and then start to move them around with her eyes shut, without bashing into each other.

So far she had managed to close her eyes and wandlessly levitate everything. Now she had to 'feel the objects' with her magic and move them around a bit. Ginny bit down hard on her lip and tried to ignore the ache in her side from Riddle's attack. Remembering the sensation of 'seeing' other's magic Ginny tried to stretch her mind out to feel the nearest object. A shiver ran down her spine as she recognised it to have four legs – not Dumbledore then – a smooth wooden surface and no back. A table.

Keeping hold of the table Ginny moved on to the next thing. Soft and flat – a rug. The next; another table. The next; a chair, a desk, four more chairs, a table, her teacher… And then, like someone had switched the light on for her Ginny could see all the objects in the room. It was wonderful and different. There were no colours, nor was there black and white. It was sort of like an artist looking at a blank canvas and already seeing the picture there, or a writer staring at a blank page and already seeing the words.

Stretching a little further Ginny made out the room, the shape of every stone and window pane. Then she tried moving something. Just one object to start off with – the table she had first 'seen'. She sent it higher up and then along, starting slow and then speeding up until it was twirling in and out of the other floating objects with ease. A slow smirk stealing across her face Ginny sent it soaring towards Dumbledore, changing the direction at the very last moment as the older wizard let off a relieved breath.

Then Ginny started moving other things too. It was hard, slow work, but by the end of the double period every single piece of furniture was hurtling around the room at break neck speed, Ginny standing in the centre of it all, unmoving except for her chest that showed how uneven and quick her breathing had become from concentration and excitement.

When the door slammed open Ginny's magic immediately stretched forward to explore this newcomer. Another person – magical, male, powerful, weary, familiar. Ginny frowned as she tried to figure out who it… Headmaster Dippet!

'Miss Craigson, if you please?' he asked, his voice confirming it was indeed he.

Ginny took a deep breath in and slowly released it as the objects she controlled slowed down and she returned them to their previous positions. Dumbledore, however, she lowered next to Dippet. Then Ginny opened her eyes, noticing with satisfaction that everything looked as it had when she had closed them.

'Professor Dippet,' she greeted with a nod, then sinking down into a nearby chair.

'Headmaster,' Dumbledore acknowledged.

Dippet stared at Ginny for a moment, before shaking his head and turning to the Transfiguration teacher. 'Albus, it seems that one of the students has been stabbed.'

Ginny's head snapped up, but she kept her features carefully schooled as she listened carefully to their conversation.

'Seems?' Dumbledore asked. 'Either the student has or has not been stabbed, surely we have people competent enough to tell?'

'That's the thing – the student, whoever it was – is now healed. By their own hand. One of the seventh year Slytherin boys was on his way down to the dungeons when he got hit by rather powerful residue magic. He's alright, just has a bit of a bruise in his side. Of course, I sent Henry down there and all he can tell is that someone – probably female – was stabbed and then healed herself using a combination of wand and wandless magic.'

Both of the professors turned to face Ginny. She returned their gaze with nothing more that confused curiosity.

'Ginevra, if you'd be so kind as to lift your top and reveal your stomach, it would be most appreciated,' Dumbledore told her.

Ginny gave them a frown, then shrugged. Standing she pulled up her jumper to reveal nothing out of the ordinary.

The two men frowned, then indicated she could lower her top. Ginny let out a long, quiet breath that she hadn't even been aware she was holding. She had managed to cast a simple glamour to hide the moon white slit of a scar on her side, she just hadn't been sure how well the spell had done. Over the past year Ginny had become very proficient at glamour spells, but she had never attempted to do one wandlessly before. She had Dumbledore and his fastidious teaching to thank for pulling it off successfully.

'Excuse me, can I go?' Ginny asked them.

Dumbledore nodded once. 'Practise feeling things with your magic for next lesson, please Ginevra.'

Ginny nodded and acciod her bag, slipping past the current and future headmasters and making her way quickly down the corridors to the Great Hall, where dinner was just being served. Eileen raised a hand and Theodore turned towards her with a grin. Ginny walked towards them with a matching grin and settled down opposite the conspicuously empty space normally occupied by Riddle.

'Hey, Ginny, how did your special lessons go?' Theodore asked pleasantly.

In response Ginny made the pasta dish levitate and start spooning out a healthy portion of food onto her plate, before flicking a bit towards the boy beside her.

'Oi!' he cried, oblivious to the fact she had cast the spell both silently and without moving.

Ginny smirked a bit, then cast a quick cleaning spell over him.

Theodore flushed and tried to bat away the magic, thoroughly perturbed by now. 'Stop it!' he said, to no one in particular.

'Well you did ask,' Ginny said around a mouthful of food.

'Seriously, you're doing wandless magic?' Katrina asked from Ginny's other side.

Ginny easily slipped her wand out of her sleeve and took out her left hand from under the table, smirking at them. 'Not quite wandless,' she lied. Eileen didn't look as though she believed it, but everyone else turned back to their previous conversations.

'Liar,' the other girl remarked lightly.

'What makes you say that?' Ginny asked, eyes glinting with amusement.

'Oh, I don't know… the fact that you aren't left handed?' Eileen said airily.

'That proves nothing,' Ginny chortled, then leaned across the table to whisper conspiratorially with her friend, 'Feel like sneaking out of the dorms tonight? I'll show you what I've been up to.'

The look on Eileen's face was enough of an answer. The other girl had mastered masking her emotions much better than Ginny had, but with a sixth sense of perceptiveness picked up from spending so long around people who never say what they mean, Ginny understood.

'What are you two plotting?' Theodore said, distracted from his conversation with his neighbour by the wicked grins on the two girls' faces.

They sent each other a side-long glance and chanted at the same moment, with the same faux-innocent, sign-song tones, 'nothing!'

Theodore gulped audibly. 'Uh-oh,' he muttered. 'That definitely means something.'

Eileen tilted her head slightly in question at Ginny; _do we tell him?_ She replied with a cross between a shake and a nod that clearly stated; _not yet_.

David, the sixth year boy on the other side of Theodore slapped him cheerily on the back. 'Now you're for it, Ted,' he said.

Ginny turned to him with a vindictive smile. 'Who said it was just for darling Theodore here? If that's you're assumption then you are clearly underestimating my own and Eileen's abilities. Which is not a very wise move at all,' Ginny said, her tone dark and, although teasing, also slightly scary.

David gulped as well. 'Yikes.' Was his only response, making the two girls burst out into laughter.

'When it comes to these two, 'yikes' doesn't come anywhere close,' Theodore said.

* * *

Eileen had followed Ginny along the deserted corridors of Hogwarts after curfew without a word of protest – unless you counted the squeak she'd given off when she stubbed her toe on _something_ in the girls' dorm – but she couldn't help but point out the ridiculousness of her friend's pacing up and down in front of an entirely annoying tapestry of someone trying to teach trolls how to perform ballet.

'Um, Ginny?' she asked carefully, trying not to startle the other girl.

'Once more,' Ginny promised, turning on her heel for the second time. Eileen merely rolled her eyes.

The next second she was trying hard to stop them popping out of their sockets. Because what had been an empty wall now had a door in the middle of it.

'Where does that lead?' Eileen asked hesitantly.

'Open it,' Ginny said, trying and failing to keep the gleeful excitement from her tone. Seeing her friend's worried glance she went on to say, 'it's safe.'

Eileen reached slowly forward with one hand and turned the door knob just as slowly. Then she pushed the door open.

The room inside really wasn't much to shout about, it had merely been the way it had hidden itself that had made Eileen so wary. In fact, the room inside looked very similar to the Potions classroom that they were familiar with, minus the door that lead off to Slughorn's quarters and a large a majority of the desks. The walls were lined with various ingredients and posters explaining properties of some of those ingredients. The blackboard was conspicuously missing, along with the teacher's desk. When Eileen looked to where the potions cupboard would be in the original she saw there was the same door that was standing ajar, revealing part of the contents that, again, looked shockingly similar.

'What is this place?' Eileen eventually asked.

When Ginny didn't answer straight away she turned to see that the other girl had set up a cauldron and had filled it with water, setting it on a blue flame so it would boil. Ginny herself was crouched over a thick text book, her brow furrowed with concentration and worrying her bottom lip.

'Ginny?' Eileen said, vague amusement infiltrating her tones as she leaned forward and poked her friend.

'What? Oh, sorry, you were just standing there so I though I might as well get started on the potion.'

Eileen gulped. 'Are we actually doing this… tonight?'

'Not quite, the potion needs a week or two to perfect – depending on who you're making it for and that person's magical capabilities,' Ginny explained, looking back down at the text.

Eileen casually leaned over and shut the book on Ginny's finger, which had been tracing down the page as she searched for something.

'Ow!' she complained. 'That's heavy!'

'Ginny, _darling_, you are talking in riddles.'

Ginny raised an elegant eyebrow. 'You try living with Riddle for two weeks, then we'll see what mannerisms you pick up.'

'His name is fitting, isn't it?' Eileen mused, before turning back to the topic at hand. 'Now, are you going to tell me what your little project is, or did you invite me along just so you can annoy me?'

Ginny considered for a while, before looking back at the book and flipping it back open to the page she had been reading. Then she span the book around to face Eileen. 'Tell me,' she asked, 'what do you know of the Telemutic potion?'

'Telemutic potion. A lot like a calming drought, except it doesn't muffle emotions and thoughts, it only sooths them so they're easier to control. It's a sketchy potion, the results and side-effects varying from wizard to wizard. The effect on the mind is immediate and initially leaves the taker disorientated, but that is soon alleviated. If the taker is a leglimens or occulumens it enhances their ability, but is generally unpopular to the majority of witches and wizards. Although highly effective it is extremely complicated to make and has to be made specifically for the witch or wizard who will be taking it,' Eileen rattled off, reminding Ginny so strongly of Hermione she felt her eyes become sore and wet.

'But Gin, I don't get it,' Eileen continued, oblivious to her friend's discomfort. 'Why are you making this? All the Slytherins have had Tom invade their minds at least once before and we've definitely all heard him complain about not being able to read your mind before – so why do you need this?'

Ginny shook her head, she was missing the point. 'Eileen, we've studied this potion in class.'

'No we haven't,' Eileen argued.

'Yes, we have. Just not during a _potions_ class,' Ginny said.

It took barely a second for Eileen's eyes to widen marginally in comprehension. 'Charms?' she asked.

Ginny nodded. 'Now, you think I'm making it to enhance my mental capabilities, but what is the potion most commonly used for?' she prompted.

'The first couple of animagus transformations,' Eileen breathed, her eyes lighting up. 'You're actually letting me help? Letting me become one too? I thought you just said yes the other day to appease me.'

Ginny looked Eileen directly in the eye. 'I'm not stupid, Eileen. If I had gone ahead and done it alone you would have found out sooner or later and then you would never have forgiven me. Not to mention the fact that this potion is really complex and whilst I'm not bad at Potions I could always do with your help.'

'I would have forgiven you,' Eileen muttered quietly.

Ginny shook her head sadly. 'I already have too many secrets from you. I want us to be friends and if I hadn't let you do this with me you might have been able to forgive me, but it would make friendship between us impossible,' she admitted just as quietly.

'It's all about trust,' Eileen clarified.

'You can trust me, and I'm starting to learn that I can trust you. But some things are too big for anyone to know.'

'I wish I could help you,' Eileen sighed. 'You're just so lost. You hide it well, but occasionally when your mind wanders when you think no one's looking, I've seen that look in your eyes. How can I help you find home again?'

Ginny shrugged uneasily. 'How can you find anything that has been destroyed beyond repair?' she asked rhetorically. 'I'm just trying to rebuild a home for me here.'

'Is it working?'

'Some bits. Other parts fall down as fast as I build them.'

The girls lapsed into thoughtful silence, both of them staring into the large cauldron full of water that was now bubbling steadily. Each was devoured be her own thoughts: when had life got so complicated? Some things remained blissfully the same – daily routines, general conversation, homework, friendships – but some things contrasted so much from the life she had lead before Ginny was beginning to think that her world had been more black and white than she'd like to admit.

Once upon a time things had been good. Not right, but good. Now it seemed as though everything had turned a dark grey sort of colour – no ending between the good and the bad, but standing out so completely from the easy, bleached, right-or-wrong world she had lived in before. Before, Voldemort was evil and that was that. Now… Ginny shook her head, trying to stop the thoughts before they crossed her mind. Because, really, now she had no idea what to think and so everything seemed possible.

Swinging the book up into her arms Ginny marched purposefully towards the store cupboard. Eileen watched her go with a slightly rueful expression. Then she set up her own cauldron, sparked off a pale blue flame under hers to match Ginny's, then followed her.

Upon her entrance it became obvious that her previous assumption that this cupboard was a replica of then one several floors below in the dungeons was wrong. Although it did indeed stock all of the common ingredients it stretched beyond that to reveal another good two meters of shelving on either side of the centre walkway, all stuffed full of rare ingredients. Ranging from gillyweed to what looked suspiciously like a box of Basilisk fangs, whatever you could possibly think of needing to put in a potion, it was here.

As Eileen gazed wide-eyed at this treasure trove she wondered idly if that meant black market human body parts were also available in here. The thought was disgusting, but also intriguing. There were an extraordinarily small number of potions that required any vital part of the human anatomy, but that did not mean there were not some out there. Eileen, as an avid potions student, was fascinated by anything potions related. As a Slytherin she was specifically fascinated by potions that were uncommon not due to their ineffectiveness, but the difficulty in acquiring all the components needed.

'What is this place?' she asked again, dragging her mind back to the task at hand.

Ginny answered without turning from where she was carefully removing lugworms from a jar, 'this is the Room of Requirement. I don't know whether it has any other entrances, but the way we came in you find the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and then pace in front of it three times, thinking of what you need, then the room appears and provides it for you.'

Eileen frowned for a moment to sort out the confusing explanation Ginny had just given. 'So if you needed a place to hide from a teacher or something…?'

'Then the room would become a broom cupboard or empty classroom or something for you to hide in, yes,' Ginny confirmed.

'But what if two people walk in front of it with different aims?'

Ginny glanced across, her expression a confusing mix of indulgence and exasperation. 'I have no idea, Eileen. You're the first person I've shown the room to.' This wasn't strictly speaking the truth, but nor was it lying. Harry had shown it to her, along with the rest of the defence club that had been christened Dumbledore's Army. So she'd been to the room with other people, even lead new members here, but never on her own.

'How did you find it?'

'I was pissed off at Tom and needed some place to think. I thought it was just one of the magically concealed passages that are all over the place in Hogwarts, but next time I cam back the room had changed. I haven't experimented much, but it seemed happy enough to produce this room – along with all the potions ingredients I could ever possibly need.' Again, this was only a half-truth. If you didn't count her time in the future, then this was true, the first time she had come here in 1943 she _had_ been pissed off at Tom.

Eileen looked thoughtfully at her for a while and Ginny turned back to finding the ingredients she needed. 'You know,' she remarked finally. 'It's almost as if you've been to Hogwarts before.'

Ginny froze for a moment, before continuing like it actually had just been a passing comment. It did not, however, escape Eileen's notice.

'Ginny, I know you don't want to tell me anything, but _have_ you been here before?'

Sighing the other girl turned slowly. 'Not exactly. Look, let me take the ingredients through, then I'll explain what little I can.'

Eileen nodded silently and followed her through into the main room. They gently replaced the book on the table, then Ginny carefully laid out the separate components of the potion before moving to an empty table and sitting on it, swinging her legs as she contemplated what to tell the other girl.

'How old are you, Eileen?' Ginny asked after a long time of silence.

Eileen, who was sitting on the floor, hugging her legs glanced up to answer. 'Sixteen. My birthday's in May.'

'What year were you born?'

'1927, but what–'

Ginny interrupted Eileen before she could continue. 'How would you react if I said that I'm not from a different country, but from a different time?'

'A different time?' she questioned incredulously.

Ginny nodded sincerely. 'I'm seventeen, but I wasn't born in 1926 or 27.' Taking a deep breath she took the plunge, 'I was born 11th August… 1981.'

The room was silent, except for the water that was bubbling quietly in the background.

'1981? As in almost forty years in the future?' Eileen finally asked.

Ginny just nodded again.

'But… but… shouldn't you be in seventh year?'

That question caught Ginny off-guard and a bubble of nervous, slightly hysteric laughter washed over her for a moment. 'Yes, I should. But I missed the first term and Dippet seemed to think it would be better for my education if I revised this year.'

'Fool,' Eileen muttered.

The other girl was having a little difficulty coming to terms with it, but it seemed easy and comfortable to resort to insulting teachers. It was also a welcome distraction, however small.

'So, uh, am I still alive in forty years?' Eileen joked weakly.

Ginny pressed a finger to her lips. 'I can't say. Honestly, I shouldn't have told you anything, it just… I guess I did need to give you some kind of an explanation. You won't tell anyone, will you?'

'Of course not,' Eileen assured her with a smile. 'But, really, how is it even possible? If you're seventeen you must have travelled back – what? 55 years?'

'Something like that. I don't know quite how it's possible – or even if I'll be able to get back once I've done what I'm supposed to.'

'You have a job?'

'Not a job exactly, more an… assignment. I was sent back only as a last resort,' Ginny explained, uneasy to say any more.

'But what about your family?' Eileen prodded. 'Are they still alive, then? Oh, God, that's worse, isn't it? Knowing that they're alive but never being able to see them again.'

Ginny felt her eyes become sore again and she tried desperately to keep the tears at bay. 'N-no. They're dead. Or will be. Or something.'

'Can you get back to them? If you manage to complete your assignment?' Eileen asked.

'I've no idea,' Ginny whispered back, hot tears now rolling freely down her clammy cheeks.

Without needing to be told that the other needed comfort – as if it wasn't obvious – Eileen stood and moved over to sit next to Ginny, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and hugging her silently for a long while, until the sobs quietened down and the tears came to a halt.

Neither of them said anything, both understanding that Ginny needed to do this – to let loose her emotions just for five, ten minutes so that she could try and move on. Because she needed to accept the past rather than just run away from it.

'So I gather you used to – I mean, will do – have been? Going to Hogwarts?' Eileen asked eventually, struggling with the tenses.

'Yeah,' Ginny said with a shaky laugh, wiping clumsily at the tears.

'Are the Slytherins of the future people to be proud of?'

'I don't really know,' Ginny admitted with a rueful grin. Maybe it would have been nice to be friends with some of the Slytherins – they were probably decent people hiding beneath a stoic façade, much like the Slytherins of 1943. But what constituted the Slytherin meaning of 'proud'?

'You don't know? Oh, are you in Ravenclaw in the future?'

Ginny shook her head slowly – should she really be telling Eileen this?

'Don't tell me you were a Hufflepuff!' Eileen exclaimed through a giggle.

The other girl looked up at her, fake solemnity spreading across her features as she said gravely,' I'm afraid it's far worse than that.'

Eileen's jaw dropped. '_Really_?'

Ginny grinned, her mask slipping. 'Amazing, isn't it?'

'You're… you're a Gryffindor!' Eileen said.

The girls looked at each other for a moment, soaking in the absurdity of the situation before they both collapsed into giggles.

'I can't believe that Tom's gone and fallen in love with an ex-Gryffindor!' Eileen said between giggles, not noticing that her words had immediately sobered her friend up.

Everything lead back to Tom Riddle. _Everything_.

'He's not in love with me,' Ginny said quietly, causing Eileen, too, to become more serious.

'Sure he is,' Eileen said, sympathetically. 'He doesn't realise it yet, but it's in the way he looks at you, the way he moves around you. Haven't you ever noticed that you always move in synch?'

'Well what about you and Theodore?' Ginny said, grasping desperately for straws in the dark to swerve the topic away from Riddle.

Eileen's eyes flashed. 'What about me and Theo?'

'You two are besotted with each other!' Ginny said, elbowing her friend softly in the ribs.

'Am not!'

'Are too! You're just too blind to realise it.'

'Well at least he a big bad bully.'

Ginny sniffed. 'You're just jealous because my boyfriend has actually snogged me.'

'How come you get to fancy a bloke who actually notices you?' Eileen groused.

'Oh, believe me, Theodore notices you alright,' Ginny grinned, raising her eyebrows.

Eileen blushed pleasantly. 'Really?'

'Um-hmm. And trust me – just because we've kissed once or twice doesn't stop things from being horrendously complicated. Both of us have had awkward childhoods,' Ginny said quietly.

'Was I right? When I asked you the other night whether something happens at the orphanage – does it?' Eileen asked tentatively.

Ginny's throat suddenly seemed very dry and constricted. 'Yes,' she whispered. 'Merlin, Eileen, it was terrible! I only left him there a day and…' Ginny trailed off, finding it impossible to continue.

'Was it… sexual abuse?' Ginny nodded. 'As well as beatings?' She nodded again. 'Shit!' Eileen muttered. 'What are Dippet and Dumbledore _thinking_ leaving him with those people? I mean, I always knew he hated going back there, but this is…'

'Horrible,' Ginny supplied. The other girl nodded. 'I've seen quite a lot in my time, but I still found it hard to believe that people would actually _rape_ someone.'

'It really is disgusting,' Eileen agreed. 'Although, in a way, it does explain a lot about Tom. I mean, who would even consider a relationship when you were taking it up the arse every time you returned 'home'?'

'The orphanage was never really his home, it was just a place he lived. Hogwarts was home,' Ginny said, thinking of the way Harry had described it. He, Snape and Voldemort – the 'lost boys'. It was a quote from some kind of muggle book, but it fit accordingly. The three of them had all come from abusive backgrounds and had fallen upon Hogwarts as a home, begging, wishing, dreaming that they could stay there all year round so they didn't have to return to their allotted 'homes'. In his blackest, darkest moments Harry would see himself as the next Dark Lord, falling victim to the lure of power and vengeance that he would finally be able to wreak upon the family that had taken such ill care of him. Or maybe he'd take the easy route and simply become a follower of the current Dark Lord, just like Snape.

Eileen was right, the fact that Voldemort, too, had been abused as a child certainly did explain a lot. The things she and Harry had seen in the diary – Riddle begging to stay at the school over the holidays – suddenly made sense. And the fact that the Death Eaters had caused countless crimes, but now she thought of it never once did any report of any kind reach the Daily Prophet of a rape. Because Voldemort himself had known what it was like and wouldn't allow his followers to repeat the crime. Did that mean he really did have a heart, shrivelled and cold as it might be under a thousand walls of protection, or was Ginny just raising dead hopes?

'Look, are we going to start this potion or not?' Ginny said with see-through cheerfulness in another attempt to distract themselves from the subject of child abuse.

Eileen glanced at the clock that told her, reproachfully that it was nearly one in the morning. 'It's a bit late…'

'You can head back if you want, but after this conversation there's no way I'm going to be getting any sleep,' Ginny told her quietly.

Eileen winced. 'Sorry, talking about how your boyfriend used to be abused and raped probably hasn't made you feel al the great.'

Ginny's thoughts turned to Harry. He hadn't been raped, but the abuse he'd had to deal with was far worse than the beatings Riddle took. 'I've told you, he isn't exactly my boyfriend.'

'Potion?' Eileen said abruptly.

Ginny nodded. 'Yeah, potion.'

The two girls turned back to the text that described the potion and started silently to prepare the ingredients they would need.

After an hour of silent working they reached a stage where the potions could safely be left for a day or two without being constantly watched over, so they packed away their things, again in silence.

They stood a while, just staring at the two separate potions – one specialised for Ginny, the other for Eileen – until Ginny finally spoke.

'What do you think you'll turn into, supposing we get this, the other potion and all the charms right?'

'I don't know. I don't know if I want to know. What if I'm something awful, like a spider?' Eileen glanced across at Ginny. 'I bet you'll turn into a true Gryffindor lion.'

'Probably,' Ginny said ruefully, staring into the whirling depths of her cauldron. 'I don't think you'll be a spider though, you aren't sneaky enough.'

'You'd be surprised,' Eileen muttered.

Ginny glanced across sharply. 'Yesterday it seemed as though there was something you wanted to tell me,' Ginny said carefully, remembering the look on Eileen's face the night before.

'Well, since we're having this little heart to heart…' Eileen trailed off, her gaze shifting to her feet. 'It's about the holidays.'

'What happened?' Ginny asked gently.

'I… you know how Slytherins are all about blood purity and what not?'

Ginny nodded slowly, wondering where this was going.

'Well, I met this guy, when I was on holiday and he was lovely and charming and, well… _muggle_.' Eileen said the last word quietly as if it might poison the very air.

'Oh, Eileen…' Everyone knew that Ginny didn't give a damn about whether you were half blood, muggle born, pure blood, squib, muggle… or half-giant, but Eileen was raised in a pureblood family, making things more complicated and confusing than ever.

'I still fancy Theo, but I fancy this guy as well and… I don't know. It's so confusing. I know I should probably just forget this muggle guy, because he'd never be accepted by my family, but _Ginny_, what if he's The One? How can I know?' Eileen looked so hopeless and lost and all Ginny could do was hug her.

'Shh, it's OK. It'll be alright,' Ginny paused, before asking the question she already, really, knew the answer to. 'What's his name?'

'Tobias Snape,' Eileen replied. Of course.

* * *

_A/N: Ooh, betcha didn't see that one coming! What do you mean of course you did and that it's a cheap plot device on my behalf? Pfft._

_OK, let's see, there were a couple of points I wanted to make about this chapter.  
First: Russia. When Ginny talks to Tom about the war she says it covers the 'entirety of the British Isles and the majority of America, Europe and Russia'. I know what a lot of you are thinking – isn't Russia in Europe (OK, so maybe not many of you are thinking that, but whatever) Well, don't I have news for you? Me and my friend got into the huge argument (as you do) about whether Russia is in Europe or Asia. So, eventually, we looked in an Atlas. Guess what? It had two labels pointing at Russia. One saying 'Europe' and one saying 'Asia'. So that cleared things up. If any of you could tell me for sure whether Russia is European/Asian/both please let me know, I'm interested in finding out which (or I want to win the argument…)_

_Secondly the whole thing where Ginny says she's cruciod someone. She hasn't. But she has seen other people do it and she's trying to get through to Tom. I might, at some point later in the story, add in a paragraph or brief bit of dialogue just explaining this properly, but for now I just thought you'd like to know._

_Lastly, 'Telemutic potion'. Feel free to laugh. I did. I know God-all about latin and word origins, but I do know that words beginning 'tele-' (telepathic, telekinetic) are to do with the mind and 'mute' means silent. Obviously. I just thought it was an, um, interesting (laughable) play on words. If there's a listed potion that does this (the whole mind-link-numbness thing) let me know and I'll change the name. Until then I shall feel free to fiddle with the process of animagi._

_Thanks muchly to everyone who has read this (including my A/N… I don't know why you bother) and please, pretty please, leave a review. I know I spent a little longer updating this time, but I've been horrendously busy. The more you review the faster I'll write!_

_Hugs to all,  
Cal  
xxx_


	6. Shades of Black

__

Well this stone that I have swallowed  
Isn't going down so well  
And this road that I have followed  
Is leading me to Hell

And you said it didn't matter  
But I think you're a liar  
Is this one of your talents  
That stokes the very fire that burns you  
Each time you try to live

And the earth will turn below you  
The pressure is building  
And something has to give  
Oh something has to give

And when I build you a steeple  
You say it's incomplete  
'Cause you need the whole cathedral  
To satisfy the need

And you're like a paper aeroplane  
That never seems to land  
Flying blind through anything  
Straight into the hand that chokes you  
Each time you try to live

_**Disclaimer: Harry Potter ™ belongs to JKR and WB. Song Lyrics (Paper Aeroplane) ©KT Tunstall**_

_**

* * *

**_

6: Shades of Black

Emotions make you do strange things. How often would you hit someone – conscientiously hurt another being – when you were happy?

Tom Riddle hurt a lot of people in the first two weeks of term, so everyone was avoiding him; no one got away from his company without being slipped something in their drink, or had a silent hex cast at them or their work ruined. The boys sharing a dormitory room with Riddle were the ones most frantically searching for the reason for his foul temper, but it was all in vain.

Because Riddle wasn't in a bad mood. He was in an amazingly good mood. For the first time in for as long as he could remember he was _happy_. Not just content or appreciative or awed. He was overwhelmingly cheerful. It was, in some ways, very similar to the way he had started to feel towards the end of the holidays with Ginny, but he couldn't seem to remember the holidays all that well, despite being only a couple of weeks ago. And the harder he tried to concentrate on them and on the way he had felt the harder it became to remember. And, for some reason that he could not fathom, he dearly wanted to remember.

Because he could see it in her eyes when they talked over the table. He could see the sparkle that hadn't quite diminished – the hope she still held for him. And when they argued, which they were want to do, he would revel in her fire and long to remember where and when he had seen it before. Because he had seen that fire before somewhere else, under better circumstances. As the hours and days crawled by he forgot more and more until the holidays were a blank space. They were two weeks that never happened.

Yet Ginny could get away with things around him that others could not. She could argue with him without having to go to the hospital wing a couple of hours later due to a well-placed 'accident'. She was the only one whose drink was safe if she placed it near him on the dinner table during meal times. She was the only one who was never on the receiving end of one of his tricks. Everyone assumed it was because she was his girlfriend.

Everyone was wrong.

Ginny was not Riddle's girlfriend and he cared nothing for her. He longed, lusted even, after what she represented – her power, her spirit, her raw energy and innovativeness – but he did not care for the package it came in. They both knew that. And they both knew that Riddle planned to kill her. It was like two strangers that meet in the street, in a café, at a party and knowing without being told that one day they would love each other.

Riddle knew that if anyone in the world could be considered his equal, it was her. She was no match to his raw magical energy, but she had her own energy that countered and equalled it, even as it was different. He knew that, at one point, somehow, she had slipped beneath his walls and managed to touch his heart. He didn't know how or why, but he knew it was no more.

There were times that Riddle couldn't remember what he was doing. Not long, just half an hour here, an hour or so there – not enough time for him to miss. But he knew he was missing something. And it didn't worry him. Because he was in an abnormally good mood. And nothing ever happened during these times. It was like dozing off in class and waking up later. Same place, but with a different page of the book open to you.

As he forgot times, other memories floated hauntingly close to the front of his mind. One memory in particular was prominent in his mind – it was the one memory he could remember of the Easter holiday.

_Staring intently at feet that moved beneath, dragging by, hindering for as long as possible, not wanting to go, wishing to turn around and never go back. Cool, clean paving stones fading into dirty cobblestones, layered with years upon years of muck. How naïve the rich are to think they lived far away from this cess pool._

_Not needing to turn to know that _she_ had returned the luggage to its usual size, placing it on the floor._

'_I don't understand. It's the middle of the second world war for the muggles – surely they'd have evacuated you all by now?'_

_A humourless laugh choking up. 'Like they care.'_

_There's a sigh and her chocolate brown eyes are watching every movement intently._

'_Don't.'_

_Anything to stop her from touching, to stop her from letting go, to stop her from coming any closer, to stop her from leaving. And then her arms are hugging tightly – too tightly but she still isn't close enough. A brush of her lips and then she's gone, leaving a 'I'll be seeing you,' hanging in the air where she should still be. _

_There's a huge wooden door and suddenly it's opened by a disgusting, fat man who looks familiar. Seen his face a thousand times before. And he drags and pushes and throws, slamming doors shut until there is privacy. Then the blows fall. Hands, feet, belt. But it's not too bad. He's been worse. In fact, he's being fairly gentle this time. Which means that worse is in store._

_How many times before? Impossible to tell. Every time it's surreal. The pain forcing its way in – through backside and thighs, through knees and through palms – seems, as it always does, as though it isn't there. As though it's happening to someone else._

_Then it's over and the man stands, dragging his pants and trousers up his thick, fat legs and picking up his belt from the floor. He gives it nothing more than a cursory wipe to get rid of the blood that stains the buckle. He gives one last, half-hearted kick and leaves. Hours pass. Light fades and no food comes. Food never comes. Once a week maybe, hopefully. There's a tap for water, but it hurts too much to move._

_Then there are noises and shouting downstairs. And he's there again, the fat man. He's pulling and dragging and throwing again and there's bright white late and another leering face. It takes a while to notice that it's _her_. The one life line and she's buying all the orphans for a whore house. _

_Oh well. Never expected anyone to truly care. Or do anything. Maybe the whore house has better food. _

_And still the memory of her arms hugging tightly as though she really cares, as though she will help. Makes the betrayal ever more bitter sweet. _

* * *

Ginny sat sideways in the Slytherin common rooms in one of the large ebony armchairs closest to the fire. Her legs were swung over one of the arms as her head rested against the other. One hand was splayed across her belly whilst the other idly swirled her wand between her fingers, the odd spark bursting out of the end every now and then. Ginny's eyes were shut and her ears closed to the general hubbub of the Slytherin rooms.

Eileen was sitting in a similar position in a matching green armchair across from Ginny. She too was sat back with her eyes closed, but she held such a tight grip over her wand that her knuckles were white. The two teenagers were exhausted; they had spent the last two weeks working hard on brewing the potions and annunciating the charms correctly until, barely ten minutes ago, they had first transformed. And the first transformations that the girls suffered were long, painful and not in the remotest sense inspiring to do it again.

The preliminary potion took eight days to brew for Ginny and another two for Eileen. It had nothing to do with their potion brewing abilities, which both girls knew were far greater in Eileen. No, the length of the brewing was determined by the witches' magical essence and their wit of mind. Either way they were both completed in about average time, which was considerable considering it took a magically competent witch or wizard to even create the preliminary potion, let alone dare to try the Animagus transformation as it was neigh on impossible to reverse if cast incorrectly.

The second potion had been easier, taking only a couple of hours, but the incantations –which had to be recited by heart – seemed impossible. Hours upon hours of revision from the initial reading both Eileen and Ginny had it down word perfect. And then there had been nothing left but to give it a go. So they had.

Both transformations had been successful, but the energy needed to pull them off had been incredible – and not just magical energy. Either way, both girls were exhausted and glad it was a Saturday the following day.

One of the topics that had been of great interest to them during the long preparation process was the animal forms that they would take. Many suggestions had passed between them, ranging from sensible (birds or cats) to outrageous, the most famous of which being the Lovegood's infamous, yet still unproven, crumple-horned snorkacks. Apparently, even before Luna's time, the joke was still understood. But what the girls actually became was a surprise to them both.

Eileen, who had always been known for her grace had expected to become some sort of cat. The girl did not posses the most handsome of features, with heavy eyelids and strong-boned cheeks that were best suited for men, so she had thought she would represent a cat that reflected those features. Instead, once Eileen had drunk the first potion, spoken the first incantation, then downed the second potion with the last couple of words she had become a tiny, sharp eared Fennec fox.

Along her belly was sleek, pure white fur that was fine and very soft to the touch. Her back was a cool creamy colour that was coarser, but thicker. Eileen's face had transformed into a sharp triangle shape, her nose pointy and her eyes huge and endearing – they kept their ebony clarity. She had also sprouted a very few, thin, coal black whiskers. Her ears were almost the same size as her face ad twitched sensitively in the air as though she could _hear_ the magic binding Hogwarts and its ground. She also had a long, reasonably fluffy tail that was tipped in mahogany so dark it seemed black.

Ginny they had predicted would turn into something wild – untameable. With a sharp wit and her ease in remembering things Eileen had expected her friend to turn into some kind of wild bird – a peregrine falcon, perhaps, or one of the great seabirds. One of them had even, at a time, joked that Ginny might defy the rules of Animagus transformations and become a creature with its own magical core. Or the lion of Gryffindor, of course.

But when Eileen had transformed back into her human form and collapsed onto the sofa, allowing Ginny the chance to initiate her first transformation, Ginny once again surprised them. For, as far from the Gryffindor lion as you could get, the girl turned into a Xenopeltis Unicolour, more commonly known as a sunbeam snake.

Although a uniform grey Ginny's iridescent scales had the effect of oil on water, reflecting the light into a spectrum of bright colours. She was about half a metre long and a fairly thin diameter, giving her a long, rope-like appearance. Her eyes, strangely had retained their dark chocolate brown and gazed steadily around at her surroundings.

It took Ginny a lot longer to get used to her animal form than it did for Eileen. The other girl still had the basic four limbs, body, shoulders, pelvis, neck and head structure, even if as a fox she walked on all fours, instead of two legs. Ginny, on the other hand, had a little more difficulty. As a snake she had a head and a body and that was about it. Learning to transport herself along the floor was a lengthy process that she had not, as yet, mastered.

Riddle watched the two girls' exhaustion with an amused sort of pity. He too was spending a lot of the time tired but whilst he knew not the reason for his tiredness, he was acutely aware that these girls knew why they were so tired. Looking down at the half finished Transfiguration essay he decided that now was a good time for answers. It would be difficult, true, but with Ginny in such a sleepy state maybe, just maybe, he would be able to get some answers out of her.

Rolling up his homework and slipping it into his school bag Riddle walked up behind Ginny and laid his fingertips on her shoulders, pressing down slightly, then starting to move them in comforting circles. As he gently massaged Ginny's shoulders she wriggled slightly and replaced her wand inside her robes. Her head tilted back and a relaxed sigh escaped her lips as her lips closed. It was now or never.

'Ginny,' Riddle said, lowering his face to her ear so he could whisper to her. 'Talk with me?'

The girl yawned and stretched, nodding absently before swinging her legs around so she was sat straight. Riddle moved round to face her and offered a hand to help her up. Ginny pulled and found herself standing mere inches away from Riddle, the only thing between them their clasped hands. 'Somewhere private?' Ginny asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

Riddle grinned at her and, keeping hold of her hand, tugged her out of the common room and along several corridors before reaching an abandoned classroom. The two of them had really become quite proficient at finding private places to talk.

'So tell me, stranger, what is it you wanted to say?' Ginny started. She may have been tired, but she knew that Riddle was far from wanting a goodnight's kiss from her.

'Straight to business, Ginevra, dear? And here I was expecting your usual foreplay,' Riddle scolded in a drawl, smirk prominent curled across his lips.

Ginny sniggered, letting go of his hand and somehow managing to grab both his wrists and slam them against the wall. 'Foreplay, Thomas, _darling_?' she hissed sarcastically, breath escaping out a along his jaw line and caressing his throat. 'And here I thought you just wanted me for simply your own satisfaction and relief,' Ginny chuckled darkly. The innuendos were thick, but neither of them were talking about sex.

Riddle's head rolled back slightly, but his eyes never left her as he replied, 'that too.'

Tired of this conversation Ginny dropped his wrists and took several steps away from him, finally remembering and casting the silencing and privacy charms. She rubbed her eyes briefly before telling him frankly, 'enough. I'm too tired for our games tonight, Tom. Tell me what you want to say and then get out of here.'

Riddle blinked and laughed harshly. 'Oh, you are in a bad mood tonight aren't you?'

Ginny did not reply, only stood and waited expectantly.

Riddle pushed himself away from the wall that he had been leaning so casually against and took a tiny step towards Ginny. 'You're hiding something from me Ginevra, and I would like to know what.'

Ginny raised her chin slightly to meet his gaze head on. 'What would you have me tell you?' she asked, her voice and emotionless.

'What have you been doing?' he asked, taking another step towards her.

'Waking, washing, changing, eating, learning, walking, breathing, essentially _living_…' Ginny said, her eyes sparkling humourlessly.

Riddle took another step so there was barely a foot between them. 'Insolent child,' he hissed. 'What are you hiding from me?'

Perhaps it was not the smartest thing to do, but with exhaustion befuddling her brain and her audacity spiking her to do something, say something that would infuriate Riddle Ginny leant forward slightly and whispered in his ear, her breath caressing his jaw line and revealed neck. 'Wouldn't you like to know?' she asked of him, her words stirring more than the fine strands of hair around his ear.

It was too much; white hot anger blinded him and Riddle's arm thrust upward, catching her neck on its way towards the sky. Ginny was wrenched off the ground, her feet dangling above the ground as he held her air bound with a throttling grip on her neck. Riddle didn't know why he thought the information she was keeping from him was so important, but something told him that, for the sake of self-preservation, he needed to find out and know every detail about it. Because it was important.

'Tell me,' he snarled, eyes and fingers narrowing.

Then she surprised him. Her eyes – her beautiful, chocolate brown eyes – had turned a deep, desperate black that swirled and thundered. And she laughed. Her laugh was pressured and fake; completely humourless. And its lack of any positive emotion was terrifying.

'Or what?' she choked at him around that horrible laughter. 'You've taken everything from me, Riddle; I don't have anything left to give. You killed my family. You killed my friends. You killed the love of my life, my tutors, my school. You killed my hope and you tortured my heart until it shattered at your feet. Now I have nothing left to give.' Her horrible cackling died down as she talked, her voice whispery and utterly serious, despite the choking laughter.

Somehow she managed to level her gaze at him and looked him directly in his eye. 'Kill me, Riddle,' she ordered. 'Kill me and have done with it. I don't know what happens when we die, but I have so many people I love waiting for me on the other side that I don't honestly care any more.

'Life is precious, they say,' she continued in the same, even, emotionless voice. 'Precious torture slowly starving the life out of you. Kill me now and I will die proud, Riddle. Proud that my resolve never broke.'

Riddle's eyes widened and the arm holding her up let go of her. Ginny's legs gave way beneath her and she collapsed on the floor, curling up into the foetal position and rocking slightly as unshed tears made her eyes glitter ferociously in the dim lumos light. A sudden realisation hit Riddle and he wrenched her sleeves up her arms to reveal smooth, unmarked arms.

'But…' Riddle was seriously confused by now. One second she was spouting suicidal and depressionist material the next revealing that she had never hurt herself. None of it made sense.

Ginny turned her eyes back to him. The black was rapidly seeping out to leave vulnerable honey brown in its place. 'I never said I hurt myself, Riddle. I never needed to. Why the Hell do you think I hang around with you? Every second I spend with you I have to watch my back, take care of others as well as me. You… distract me,' Ginny smiled weakly and the tears spilled over, trailing silvery tracks down her freckled cheeks.

Riddle stared at the girl at his feet, complete and utter confusion spreading throughout him. He had thought understood Ginny and her motives. After all, how difficult could it be? Riddle had Ginny down as the type who would do anything for those she loved, and even more for those she didn't like. She was very much the compatriot of the people. It didn't matter who they were she could stand and fight for them. But she did so in an entirely Slytherin way. She would do it if there were no side-effects that would disable her future plans and keep her alive.

And here she was begging him to kill her. It didn't make sense. That sense of survival at any cost seemed to be nonexistent in Ginny and he knew – just _knew_ – that it was he who broke her. Broke her spirit. An overwhelming sense of guilt pressed suddenly down on his chest and he felt Ginny's mind reach tentatively out to meet his. He hadn't even realised that she had cast leglimens, but then it broke.

As soon as her mind entered his all the barriers broke down and Tom remembered. Everything, every word she'd ever said to him, every touch they'd ever shared and every look she'd ever given to him… he remembered it all. The entire Easter holiday slammed back into his mind with brutal finality. He knew that no matter what, the memories of those two weeks would be forged into his mind for the rest of his life. Ginny reached with her mind and gently stroked his, tempting him, allowing him in.

He took the chance and stepped carefully into her mind. This was unmapped territory and he was in it with one who had spent their life creating it. Carefully Tom stepped forward and Ginny presented herself in a form of energy, leading him through her life until he could see and feel all of it.

And then he understood. He knew why she felt as though she had nothing left to give and he knew why she didn't want to die. She couldn't leave this life, knowing that she hadn't given everything to a task that she was set. With Ginny it was all or nothing. He knew how she loved – with all her heart. And, dissecting her mind, he knew that although she no longer recognised or understood it, she had always loved him. From the moment his diary – he had a diary? – had entered her life she had fallen in love with him. That love did not stop her from loving the future Harry Potter just as fiercely, if not more so, but it was older and more withstanding.

He knew now how she could forgive him after everything. He was dirty from the beatings and rape, but she was dirty from the endless torture and living where others did not or could not. And he knew that although she believed herself to be broken beyond repair, there were so many pieces of her that it would be so easy for him to lift them up, worship them and stick them together so the bonds were stronger than they had ever been before. And he knew he could do it. Because what she felt for him he felt for her. He knew it and she knew it, but neither of them could comprehend it.

As he withdrew from her mind the rest of his memories came back and he fled. He remembered it all, every last second that had been hidden within the darkest recesses of his mind. Casting a horrified look at her – dear Merlin, the things he had planned to do! He crashed out of the classroom, away, away, away from her.

Ginny watched him leave with the hot tears drying and wetting her cheeks both at the same time. She hadn't seen enough but she had seen the briefest glimpse of something – of someone in his mind.

It had been dark, in that tiny shard of a memory she had seen before he had left. And in that damp, dripping darkness there had been a shadow. A shadow of a shadow, maybe. It had no distinguishing features but it had been plain that it was not something that was controlling Riddle. Oh, no. It was someone. A figure in the dark, standing ominously, waiting for the mindless protégé to return. But it had been another shade of black in the darkness and no matter how hard Ginny tried to see, it was impossible to tell who it was.

The magical signature surrounding the shadow had felt… familiar, somehow. But also different. Ginny thought about it for a long moment and then realised that whoever it was must be considerably younger in this time, so of course the signature would seem the same but different. She had been around Voldemort enough to know what his magical signature was like and, now she inspected it, she remembered the thin, finely placed web that had wrapped around his power. Tending it, feeding it, increasing it. That was how he got to be so powerful.

There was no doubt that Riddle was powerful in his own right, but his power had definitely increased throughout the years. Of course, that could just be the normal progression of his magic but what if… what if something – this shadow-person – had artificially expanded it? It would, of course, be at more risk of breaking down because of it, but the being who was supporting it could simply lend their own power to the cause.

Ginny frowned, her hands rubbing at her cheeks as she thought more about it. Who was it? She was sure she had seen the person someplace before, but where? And who?

Ginny slowly picked herself up and removed the tattered silencing and privacy spells that had been somewhat ruined when Riddle had charged through them. Then, feeling utterly exhausted, no matter how many tempting questions that were running amok inside her skull, Ginny headed back to the Slytherin common room to settle down into fitful, disturbing sleep.

* * *

Sleep did not bring the epiphany Ginny had hoped it would, but it did bring Saturday. Shortly after a particularly late breakfast Ginny and Eileen headed up to the Room of Requirement to continue working on easing their Animagus transformations. Now that the initiating ritual was complete they would not have to drink either of the potions again, or repeat any of the charms.

Turning from human to animal and back again would still require a lot of effort and energy, but the book had merely said that it got easier with time and practise.

So they did. The two girls flicked to and from their new forms, practising their transformations over and over all morning and late into the afternoon until, finally, they were fed up, tired and really just wanted to sit down for a nice long chat and cup of tea.

'So what happened last night?' Eileen asked as the two of them collapsed down into the sofas.

Ginny closed her eyes and wished Eileen could un-speak the question and ignore her curiosity. Nothing happened. 'I threw a hissy fit, Riddle threw a hissy fit, we yelled a bit at each other before he stormed out.' Ginny said. It was the truth… sort of. They hadn't _really_ yelled at each other. Not out loud, anyway. But the intimacy they had shared mentally and the way it had been broken… Ginny wondered what Riddle had found that had scared him so much. Because he hadn't 'stormed off' so much as 'got the hell out of there as soon as humanly possible'.

'Really? Why?' Eileen inquired, clearly disbelieving of her friend's explanation.

'Something I said.' The truth again… sort of.

'What?'

Ginny baulked at the abrupt bluntness of the question, startled into replying, 'I don't know.'

Eileen stared at her for a moment before seeing her friend's misery and wrapping her up in a hug. 'Aw, come on, Ginny, it can't be that bad. I mean, look at the two of you! You're hot and cold, light and dark – you don't get one without the other.'

Ginny stared blankly back, before tipping her head back and closing her eyes again. Eileen had a point, though. Oh, not the hot and cold thing. No… it was what she had said. What _had_ Ginny done? It probably hadn't been the most brilliant of ideas to show Riddle so much of her mind, but what had he seen that had made him run like that? Why did she care?

Ginny didn't like Riddle. No, that was wrong. Ginny _did_ like Riddle, she just wasn't supposed to. So what had he seen? Ginny hadn't been so tired the night before that she had blindly led him into her mind and shown him everything. She had shown him a lot of things and feelings, but the important things she had kept so hidden he probably hadn't even noticed she was hiding them.

When had life become this complicated?

'What about you, Eileen?' Ginny asked, successfully distracting Eileen, if not herself completely. 'How's your love life?'

'What love life?' Eileen chuckled, her eyes betraying her cheerful expression.

Ginny settled back glumly. What a mess their lives were. 'It's Hogsmeade tomorrow, isn't it?' she asked, seemingly randomly.

'Yeah,' Eileen said, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. If there was one word to describe Ginny, 'random' was not it.

'Why don't you ask Theodore to join you?'' Ginny asked.

'But what about you? I couldn't leave you alone like that!' Eileen immediately spluttered.

'Eileen, _Tom Riddle_. Ring a bell?' Ginny asked rhetorically. If she was going to have her and Riddle's non-existent relationship used against her then she'd damn well use it against others. 'We may not be on the best of terms, but I'm sure we'll be able to come up with some sort of compromise. After all, not every weekend is a Hogsmeade weekend.'

'Ah, the freedoms of seventh year,' Eileen sighed, referring to the top year's freedom to go to Hogsmeade whenever the fancy took them.

'So ask him out,' Ginny said, reminding her friend not to get distracted.

Eileen stuck her tongue out in a moment of infantile childishness. 'Fine, but only if you have a decent conversation with Tom at dinner tonight.'

Ginny scowled at her, but offered her her right hand. 'Deal,' she agreed.

The rest of the afternoon passed with lazy self-assurance, Ginny and Eileen heading back to the Slytherin common room so as not to ignore Katrina and Yuna, who had started to feel a little left out. The girls were still spending just as much time together, but Ginny and Eileen had been spending increasingly longer times out about the castle after curfew. They had never been caught, so the Slytherins weren't bothered with what they were doing; the concern was on a more personal level for the other girls.

But, easy to forgive, if not quite forget, the girls settled into easy conversation about everything. Ginny and Eileen apologised – in not so many words – for their absence from their dorm rooms. Katrina and Yuna forgave them – in not so many words – in exchange for a promise of not leaving them out of the loop again. Because some things in life really were still that simple.

Then, of course, Riddle came in and reminded Ginny of her complicated mess of a life.

Ginny didn't know what to think or how to react. Because back in the classroom the previous night Riddle had, for a little while, reverted back to Tom. And then he had fled. Who was he, really? Ginny looked hesitantly up into his eyes and was shocked by the sparkle that lit up in them when their eyes met.

'Tom?' she asked.

Riddle made his way over to where she was now standing and the common room suddenly fell silent. Their housemates' curious fascination with any type of gossip was as potent in this day and age as it was fifty years in the future. And so everyone knew that some kind of argument had transpired between the two. But, as dearly as they longed to, all bets were off with these two. So the common room waited with baited breath to see what would transpire.

'Craigson,' he replied once he was once again a foot away from her.

Ginny sighed as the unexpected pressure of severe disappointment spread across her chest. So that's how it would be. 'Right.' She coughed awkwardly. 'Alright. Fine.' She lowered her head, feeling fully embarrassed and humbled by the feeling of defeated expectation she had held in him – the future Dark Lord. 'For what it's worth – whatever I've done – I'm sorry.' And then she tried to turn away from him.

But the boy would not let her, grabbing her wrist and spinning her to face him again.

'My fault,' he muttered under his breath, so the rest of the world wouldn't hear. Then he kissed her.

Time didn't stop, fireworks didn't go off and the world didn't stop turning. But it was familiar and nice and _right_. And Ginny was almost certain that hers wasn't the only heart that skipped a beat at the first gentle brush of their lips.

It didn't make her forget who she was kissing, of course, Ginny just didn't seem to mind so much when his lips were moving across hers. She knew that this was the guy who had stabbed her, who had held her up by the neck and she simply didn't care. Because both times she had emerged triumphant. A little bruised, both physically and mentally, but she had won over a little more of him. And now it seemed that 'Tom' – as opposed to 'Riddle' – was back to stay.

'Tom,' she breathed out across his lips when the kiss broke.

His breath caught and he staggered it out with difficulty, but the words that were carried on it were not quite lost on Ginny. 'Love you.'

Overwhelmed didn't even cover what Ginny was feeling at that point. She stiffened in his arms and her head tilted back a little so she could look him in the eye. She had expected any number of things from Tom, but that was not one of them. Suddenly, the disappointment that Ginny had felt when he had called her 'Craigson' swamped into Tom's eyes and Ginny about choked on her stupidity.

Raising one hand she brushed the back of her fingers very gently against Tom's cheek, then closed her eyes and leant forward, kissing him again. Her other arm wrapped around his shoulder and she waited, her lips now a hair's breath from his, her eyes still closed.

'Ginny?' he asked, voice thick with some unknown emotion.

Ginny smiled and her eyes flickered open. Then she took his hand and led him out of the common room, ignoring the catcalls and wolf whistles. Down one corridor and up another in a permanent state of daze Ginny had one goal; one destination in mind.

She opened the door and led him into the same classroom that they had fought the night before.

'Why are we here?' Tom asked immediately.

Ginny turned and looked him straight in the eye, measuring something in him. 'Because I don't understand,' she said finally.

Tom's eyebrows rose. 'How the mighty have fallen: Ginevra Craigson doesn't _understand_ something.' His tone was lightly sarcastic and Ginny cracked a grin at him, though her newly formed frown didn't go anywhere.

'Seriously, Riddle – Tom. One second we're slowly becoming friends, the next you try and kill me and suddenly you think you're in love with me. What about that _isn't_ confusing?' Ginny asked seriously.

'Think?' Tom growled. He stood straight and towered over her, fierce and demanding his kiss lighted something in Ginny that had been dampened for too long. 'I _know _this,' Tom hissed into her ear. 'And I know _you_ and I know that I love you.'

Ginny's heart threatened to explode out of her chest. What she wouldn't have done to hear him say those words five and a half years ago. What she wouldn't have given to feel his kiss and his arms and see his eyes blazing like they were now; with longing, with love. There was no denying it, and there was no denying that she felt the same. But what did it all mean? He hated her, she had been so sure of it.

Hot tears spilled over her eyelashes and Tom watched in horror as Ginny wept. She wanted this. She wanted to be with him so bad that if he proposed right now she'd say 'yes'. And it wasn't just this Tom that she loved. In her own, twisted way she loved Riddle as well. Perhaps, if she followed him through the shadows to the darkness she might love Voldemort as well.

They were three separate people, almost. Tom was the 'nice' bit. He was sarcastic and hard as nails, but he held true values. Riddle was the worst bit. He was murderous and merciless, with no conscience to speak of. And Voldemort… Ginny was starting to see that Voldemort was merely a conversion of the two, with all the bad qualities of Riddle, but with the same ferocity of Tom.

And how did she fit into this? Ginny knew that, now that he had her heart, she could – and would – follow him to the ends of the Earth and back again. She would not bend to his will, but she would forgive him time and again. Did that mean that the war was lost, now, before it had even started?

Ginny looked up into Tom's worried eyes and tried to smile for him. What must he be thinking?

'I love you too,' Ginny murmured shakily.

Tom stroked away her tears with his thumbs. 'Then why are you crying?' he asked her gently, fear and confusion still prominent in his expression.

'Because you stabbed me two weeks ago and left me for dead. Because you ran from me last night,' she replied.

Tom's confusion cleared a little and his eyes seemed to almost glow. 'Yet you love me?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

Ginny almost laughed at that question. Almost. 'Because you're lonely and brilliant and confused and beautiful. And if I could change a single thing about you I wouldn't. Because I want to save you from your nightmares,' she told him evenly, truthfully. If he was going to become Voldemort then she would follow him with all her heart.

Tom pulled her into a tight hug, whispering into her hair, 'what if my nightmares were real?' he asked. 'And what if you were at the very centre of them?'

'I'm not a bad dueller, Tom, I'm sure I'll do just fine,' she reassured him, missing his next comment.

_That's what I'm afraid of._

'Now, shall we go down to dinner?' Ginny said after a long moment spent wrapped up in one another.

Tom offered a half smile and kissed her again. Then she took his arm and walked out of the abandoned classroom up to the hall. Ginny smiled austerely as Eileen took her other arm and refused to answer any questions.

'_What happened?'_

'_Are you two going out now?'_

Ginny couldn't answer them even if she wanted to.

The Slytherins sat down in their usual places and waited in silence to see if the young couple were going to tell them anything, much to their disappointment Ginny and Tom simply struck up a conversation about French cuisine. Towards the end of the meal Theodore did what Ginny had told Eileen to do.

'Eileen,' he yelped, as though someone had pinched him in the leg. Ginny leant forward a bit to glance at the boy the other side of Theodore. David was staring decidedly at his food, but looked up when he felt her gaze. Ginny winked at him and he smirked back.

'Yes?' Eileen prompted, when it seemed that Theodore was unlikely to say anymore.

'Um, would you… what are you… we can go to Hogsmeade tomorrow,' the poor boy stuttered and choked out.

Eileen smirked down into her food. 'Yes, it is,' she agreed.

'Just – just stating the obvious,' Theodore said, laughing nervously.

Eileen looked up at him then and smiled. No one but Ginny seemed to notice how sad the smile was.

As a result Theodore got pinched on both of his legs and kicked in the shins by Tom, who would never turn down the opportunity to be malicious.

'Oooow,' he howled, instinctively clutching his legs up and almost toppling backwards out of his chair. Righting himself Theodore didn't waist any time in complaining. 'Quit ganging up on me!'

Ginny, David and Tom looked at him with bland faux-innocence and turned back to their meals.

Another five minutes passed and, when the desserts arrived but Theodore's question did not, he found himself once again at the receiving end of several people's powerful persuasion.

'Alright, alright!' he groused. Then, once again nervous, Theodore looked up at Eileen, who was regarding the goings on around her with the mature eye of an adult surrounded by children. 'Eileen?' he asked.

'Yes?' she answered again.

'Will you do me the honour of accompanying me to Hogsmeade tomorrow?'

Eileen carefully laid down her fork and placed her hand in her lap. She looked at him very seriously before telling him, 'duh!' and then returning to her food.

Ginny burst out into laughter at this response. Oh, Eileen had been spending far too much time around her. No one in this time knew what that meant! Theodore turned to Ginny in confusion, clearly reasoning that if Ginny found it funny then she must understand it.

'She means 'what the hells took you so long to ask?',' Ginny informed him between giggles.

Theodore remained in a state of confusion for a split second longer before understanding dawned and a massive grin spread across his face. The other sixth years, who had been watching and listening in closely grinned and congratulated the two of them as Ginny continued to calm her giggles.

Tom, on the other hand, simply asked her to pass the syrup.

* * *

Sunday morning dawned bright and early; the girls in the sixth year Slytherin dorm rising with the sun. It was ridiculously early, but most of them had dates and the first host of departures took place at nine. And everyone knows how long it takes to choose the right outfit, to wash and dry your hair and apply just the right amount of make up.

Ginny watched her room mates with amusement as they fussed over this or that.

'What are you smirking about?' Katrina demanded at one point.

'You,' Ginny replied.

There was a long silence until… 'Hey, Ginny?' Katrina asked.

'Yes,' she replied hesitantly, wondering where this was going.

'Can I be your new best friend?' she asked brightly.

Ginny was startled into laughter and managed, just about, to ask why.

'Because you are _the _matchmaker. Eileen and Ted have been circling each other for _years_ now, then you turn up and bam!' Katrina smashed her hands together for extra effect, but only making Ginny's eyebrows creep further up her forehead. 'They've _both_ got a date. _With each other_.'

Ginny continued to stare at her with raised eyebrows.

'I want a daaaaate,' Katrina whined.

Ginny giggled. 'I'm sorry, my services only work if you know who you want to date,' she teased.

'Harry Potter,' the girl told her, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

A sharp stab of irate jealousy hit Ginny until she remembered that the girl mean _this_ Harry Potter, not _her _Harry Potter. Boy was that confusing. 'So ask him out,' the older girl advised.

'Sure, because that's what you told Eileen and Theodore,' Katrina moaned.

'Actually, that is what she told me,' Eileen called out from the bathroom where she was doing her hair.

'Right. What did you tell Ted?' Katrina asked speculatively.

'You really want to know?' Ginny said, leaning forward conspiratorially.

Katrina nodded.

Ginny lowered her voice and whispered, 'you _really_ want to know?'

'Yes!'

Ginny leant back with a laugh, telling the other, 'I said nothing, just pinched him a couple of times during dinner last night.'

Yuna, who had been listening to this conversation with interest, hid her laughter ineffectively behind her hand. Katrina just scowled.

'Well, have a lovely day, girls,' Ginny said, skipping out of the room.

The common room was almost deserted, except for a couple of first and second years milling about complaining about how _they_ didn't get to go to Hogsmeade. Ginny lowered herself into one of the 'poofy' armchairs and started reading a copy of yesterday's Daily Prophet that had been left out. Then a furious Tom Riddle stalked out of the doorway leading to the boys' rooms, looking as though he would kill whatever next got in his way. Naturally, the next thing was Ginny.

'Tom?' she asked, standing up and abandoning the paper.

'It's Ridde, to you – oh, Ginevra,' he thundered, catching himself when he realised it was her. But he had called her by her full name – that did not bode well.

'Tom, what's wrong?' Ginny asked, hoping above all that he was indeed still Tom and not Riddle.

Tom's expression, which was still thunderous, turned even darker. 'Those _imbeciles_ I share my room with. It's none of their business what I do with _my_ girlfriend. Mooning over random birds it's hardly _my_ fault if when I lost my temper I was over enthusiastic.'

'Tom, love, what did you do?'

'Fucking blew up their beds, is what I did.'

'Are they hurt?'

'Who gives a damn? Why do you care, Ginevra?' he growled. A combination of his anger and lack of self-confidence making his voice gruffer as he grabbed her arm.

Ginny frowned. 'They're people,' she answered.

'Stop being such a _Weasley_,' he hissed at her, letting go of her arm and storming out of the common room, slamming the portrait hole shut behind him.

'Fuck,' Ginny muttered just as Theodore and Matisse stumbled into the room, hair and clothes in disarray.

'What? What did he do?' Theodore demanded.

'Are you guys all OK?' Ginny asked, ignoring his question.

'Yeah, but–'

'Good. I'll see you all later,' Ginny told him, then rushed out after Riddle, hoping that he hadn't gone too far. There was no doubt in her mind that he was no longer Tom. Damn it. Where did one end and the other begin? And how did she fit into it? It was clear that even in this state – supposing he was still even himself – he cared a little for her. Calling her by her first name was indication enough of _that_. But he had called her Ginevra. _No one _called her Ginevra. Even when her mother was red hot stinking furious, she still called her Ginny.

She wasn't about to admit it, and it was quite an inconsequential thought, when it was mixed in with all the other havoc rushing through her mind, but she quite liked the sound of her full name coming from Tom Riddle's lips. He really did have very pretty lips. And a lovely voice. But it didn't answer the question as to _why_ he'd called her that.

Ginny saw the tail end of his cloak flick round a corner at the top of a set of stairs and set up after him, going two steps at a time to catch up. The dungeons was a floor below ground and they ended up going up five sets of stairs. Third floor. The significance didn't escape Ginny.

Realising where he was heading and thanking her lucky stars for her intimate knowledge of the Marauders' Map she cut ahead of him and went into the girls' toilets before Riddle. It was empty as most people were still fussing about actually getting out of bed. Realising that Ginny had no alibi for being here – much less before Riddle got here – she did the first thing that came to mind and transformed into her Animagus form.

Sure enough, barely seconds later the door slammed open and Riddle was standing there, looking even more terrifying now that Ginny was that much smaller. She watched as he stalked over to the taps and demanded that they open.

Ginny shook her head. Didn't he realise that they wouldn't open without speaking Parseltongue?

Then they opened.

If it was possible on a snake, Ginny's eyes widened.

_Oh great snake, will you present me with stairs?_ Riddle demanded of the hole, until the foreboding darkness morphed. Ginny slid a little further forward and saw that the building had indeed presented Riddle with stairs.

Curious whether she too could now talk in Parseltongue Ginny moved further forward and listed her head off the ground so she could see him better.

_Young master?_ She asked, carefully giving herself a French accent, so that Riddle wouldn't recognise her voice.

'What – ?' Riddle choked out, spinning so that he faced her.

_Snake-tongue, if you don't mind,_ Ginny told him, avoiding the use of the word 'Parseltongue', hoping that snake-tongue was what snakes called their own language.

_Of course, my apologies,_ Riddle said, his voice sounding far from repentant. _What are you and what are you doing here?_

_What? _What_?? Exucez-moi, monsieur, but I am very much a 'who'. My name is– _the slightest of hesitations as Ginny considered. –_Nagini. I am here because you asked me to be. _Poetic licence. What made more sense than calling herself Nagini? Ginny knew she was not and never would be the Nagini she had seen in the future – she was the wrong species – but why not use that name?

_I asked nothing of you,_ Riddle scowled.

_Are you sure? The shadow said I should come, _Ginny made up quickly, remembering the shadow she had glimpsed when their minds had brushed – was it two days ago now? Hopefully he would swallow it.

_There is a great one of the snakes here who would eat you if he got the chance,_ Riddle told her.

_Then I shall not give him a chance._

Riddle hesitated a moment before offering an arm to Ginny. Immediately she realised what he wanted her to do. Carefully, still not used to this new form, Ginny slithered onto her arm and then up, over his shoulder and wrapping her slender form around his neck.

_You have beautiful scales,_ he told her irrelevantly as they descended the stairs.

_One is born with their skin. You may shed it as many times as you like, but the colouration is genetic,_ Ginny told him, settling into his movement. It was strangely nice to be wrapped around his neck and shoulders like this.

_Nonetheless you are beautiful._

_Thank you,_ Ginny replied bemusedly, wondering what point he was trying to make. They lapsed into silence for few moments and Ginny took in their surroundings. His request for stairs had brought with it a much drier corridor than what Ginny remembered that was lined with wall sconces that lit as they approached and died once they had passed. The place was humming with recently awoken magic.

Once they reached the bottom of the stairs there was a large gate with several snakes awaiting the order to open. Ginny remembered nothing of her trip to Slytherin's lair, but she remembered enough of her return journey to recognise the surroundings. Riddle hissed at he snakes and Ginny shivered as the door opened to reveal the thrown room.

_Are you cold?_ Riddle inquired.

_Forgive me. I am a cold-blooded creature and there is very little warmth down here,_ Ginny hastily excused herself.

_Use my warmth._

Ginny could not help but shake her head at that. What warmth. _You are cold,_ she said.

Riddle said nothing more, but walked up so he was before the huge statue of Salazar Slytherin. It was as terrifying now as it had been back when she was eleven, Ginny thought.

_Open to me, Slytherin, greatest of Hogwarts four,_ Riddle hissed.

Wait… didn't the pass phrase begin 'speak to me'?

The statue slowly opened as it usually did and revealed another set of steps leading even further down into the Earth. Riddle crouched and Ginny slithered off his arm.

_Follow me,_ he told her and then started down the stairs.

Ginny hesitated for a moment, then lowered her head and followed him, handling the stairs as best she could in her snake form. Gradually she got the hang of it as they journeyed deeper and deeper, the darkness encompassing everything.

_Not far,_ Riddle hissed at her and Ginny dimly recognised a light at the end of the tunnel, but it was glowing green, rather then yellow or orange.

_What kind of light is that?_ She asked of him.

_It is soul light,_ Riddle explained, saying nothing more. What was soul light when it was at home? Or in Slytherin's lair, for that matter.

Riddle waved a hand at her, signifying that she should stay in the stairwell for a moment. Then he walked into the room and talked, in English to someone.

'What are you doing back here?' the other person spoke gruffly in a deep baritone.

'The boys angered me. I came to see if there was anyway we could forward our plans to tonight instead of next Sunday.'

'Patience is a virtue.'

'I also have one who claims to have been called.'

'Who?'

'A snake, who goes by the name Nagini.'

'Ah yes, beautiful name. Formed originally from, 'Nygin,' meaning soul savour. Snakes always know the routes of names, this one should be good.'

'Yes, sir,' Riddle responded, before reappearing at the bottom of the stairs. _You have Salazar's favour, you may come._

Salazar? Surely the founder wasn't still alive? And controlling Riddle? No, he had sounded far too… amiable to want to take over the world. But when Ginny turned the corner she saw that it was indeed Salazar – in portrait form. The thin, lean man leaned over the desk in front of him and narrowed his eyes at the snake. Then the impossible happened and the portrait spoke mentally to the snake alone.

_You are not of serpentine ancestry, _the founder said, voice free of accusation, sounding merely interested.

Curious as to how Leglimency would work with a portrait Ginny stretched forth her mind and bridged the gap. _No, sir. I'm human as they come. But Riddle is not himself and I must see what is wrong._

_Why?_

_I love him,_ Ginny told him stoutly, trying in vain to keep the pride and stubbornness from her mind when she said this.

_Very well. But I warn you that you will not like what I have hidden down here._

_I do not expect to like it, _Ginny assured him.

_You may pass, _the portrait said, this time aloud to both Riddle and Ginny.

Riddle nodded once and stepped past the snake to press a hand against the wall beside the portrait.

'Enter,' a voice announced from inside. An awfully familiar voice.

Ginny tried to figure out where she'd heard that voice before. She knew it and recognised as… who? She couldn't think and curiosity was ebbing her forward. The portrait slid to the side and the stonework convulsed moving in and around so that it formed a thick archway leading into a green-filled room that was the source of the 'soul light'. Riddle stepped forward into it and Ginny slithered quickly after him, glancing around her in a desperate, frantic search of the owner of that voice.

Black eyes took in the book filled room that was, really, a study. As Ginny searched she realised that the Chamber of Secrets wasn't so much a hallowed home for a terrible beast that would petrify and kill. It was merely a study hidden from the other founders. A place where Slytherin could escape them and have time to himself.

Then she saw it. The shadow. In the far corner, half hidden behind a pillar of books. Then it turned towards them.

Ginny didn't even register the fact that she had morphed back into her human form, she was so captivated by the face that finally revealed itself.

'Oh my God,' she whispered.

* * *

_A/N: cackles Um, yeah. So in the next chapter you will find out the root of all Tom's power! Well, kinda. Maybe. Ok, so not really. But you'll find out why Tom's been acting all strange. Ginny also faces some personal demons, Tom is going to throw a bit of a hissy fit and Eileen's love life really starts heating up. Mmm. Does that tempt you to hang around for a little longer? I'm aiming for about ten chapters, give or take.  
__OK, a couple of things you kids should know. First, the thing about the Animagus transformation needing quite a bit of magical power. I know what you're thinking (haha – or not) what about Pettigrew? He was an Animagus, and an idiot. I know I also said 'wit of mind', but with the help of Sirius, James and Remus, some of it had to rub off, right? And it is never mentioned anywhere that Peter is magically inept. Stupid? Sure. Snivelling? Definitely. Coward? Um, duh! – well, you get the point. So I'm sure that eventually he was able to pull off the full transformation, obviously.  
__Next! Eileen and Ginny's Animagus forms. I took ages narrowing it down. Because the last thing I wanted was something obvious. Well, OK, a snake is pretty obvious (I had you going for a while that she would be a lion, didn't I?) but the sunbeam was so pretty! Plus her being a snake is kinda vital. See above. Because there was no other way Ginny could miraculously learn Parseltongue in the space of what? Five minutes. She can only speak it in snake form, but I guess she'll have to live with what she gets.  
__As for Eileen? Have you guys ever seen a Fennec fox? I was flipping through my encyclopaedia of animals (my dad's into the natural world – don't ask) and I saw it and I was like, 'scrap the birdies, that is the animal for Eileen!' My friend overheard and thought I might have finally cracked.  
__Anyways, if you want to see what they look like, take at these pictures:  
__Ginny; history./zajem/ex-cryptid-sunbeam-snake-SEAsia.jpg  
__Eileen; /Animals/Fennec-Fox.jpg  
__Tom isn't going to ever become an Animagus but, as I was going through all these animals this is the one I thought would suit him; s306./albums/nn259/Calistabelle/?actionview¤tuntitled24.jpg  
__Well, these are what I think would suit the characters, but what do you guys think? I know it's a little late to change my mind now, but what do you think they'd turn into and have I made OK choices?  
__I apologise for the length of time taken to get this latest chapter out, but it's nearing the end of a school year and the beginning of the summer, so I have a work load shoulder high. I'm doing my best, you'll just have to bear with me.  
__Any questions/discrepancies/moans, etc, etc, drop me a review! I adore getting feedback from you guys and do my best to reply to everyone. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, but flames are not.  
__Love to you all!  
__Cal  
__xxx  
__PS Thanks everyone who replied with an answer to that Russia question!  
__PPS Thanks also to all the anonymous reviewers – I'd reply to your notes if I could!  
__PPPS Slytherin's essentially a good guy, but I don't know how much more of him we'll be seeing. He was just a filler.  
__PPPPS Any guesses as to who the 'shadow' is? Let me know. I betcha won't get it right!_


	7. Material Things

_Are you blind  
Blind to me trying to be kind  
Volunteering for your firing line  
Waiting for one precious sign  
The flicker of a smile  
You should try it just once in a while  
Maybe it's not quite your style  
It's simply too easy to do  
And you might not see it through_

_Are you proud  
To have founded a brand new behaviour  
With hatred and hurt as your saviour  
But nobody's choosing to follow  
So you choke back the tears and you swallow  
Men who have ruined your life  
You consume them with minimum strife  
But now you have got indigestion  
The antacid comes as a question_

_Find yourself another place to fall  
Find yourself up against another brick wall  
See yourself as a fallen angel  
Well I don't see no holes in the road but you  
Find another place to fall_

_Are you alive  
Is there a young woman hiding inside  
Does she know that we're trying to help her  
Is she totally frozen with fear  
If you let her come out for a day  
She might even like it and stay  
But it's gonna take you to invite her  
Coz you seem so determined to spite her_

**_Disclaimer: Harry Potter ™ belongs to JKR and WB. Song Lyrics (Another Place to Fall) ©KT Tunstall_**

_**

* * *

**_

7: Material Things

Ginny was levitating things wandlessly again. She had transfigured one of the hard-backed chairs into an armchair which Dumbledore was now sat in, reading the Daily Prophet as Ginny played with the furniture. He seemed quite oblivious to the fact that he, the armchair and the newspaper were all upside-down and zooming around the ceiling at approximately fifteen miles an hour.

The young woman controlling everything was sat cross legged on the floor with an expression of deepest concentration and contemplation spread across her features. Her hands spread wide and hovering parallel a couple of centimetres off the floor whilst her wild hair was standing on end from the static power she was giving off. Ginny's eyes were closed, but she could see the scene before her as clearly as if they were open.

It was a state of meditation that Ginny looked forward to – this concentration. She always left the lessons feeling exhausted but thrilled. She knew that a lot of the energy she was using was not hers, she was borrowing it from her surroundings. The castle had a very strong magical field that anyone could tune in to if they knew how to and she found the furniture easier to manipulate once she had used it before – she left a magical imprint on it that made it easier to 'see' them.

Watching the world through her magic was very much like a colour blind person being able to see in more than black and white. It made her eyes ache a little, like staying cross-eyed for too long, but it was wonderful. Ginny knew that anyone could do this if they practiced. You did not have to be particularly magically adept to do it, it was just that some people found it very hard to find the right state of mind. You had to stop trying to see things in the traditional sense and just relax into it.

Ginny saw Dumbledore fold up the paper and knew it was time for the next part of her lesson. With much less care than she had to start off with, but twice as much grace, Ginny returned the furniture to its rightful places and transfigured Dumbledore's armchair back to its original state. The teacher banished his newspaper and told Ginny to stay sat down.

Expectantly the seventeen year old looked up at Dumbledore in the same, enthusiastic way that a seven year old child still in primary school looks up to their teacher preparing to read the next chapter of a favourite story. Ginny had never been all that fond of Dumbledore, referring to him as a 'meddling old fool' more often than Snape himself had, but this younger version of him, though looking the same, did not have the same infuriating 'I know more than you' air about him.

In some ways Ginny knew that this different attitude had a lot to do with the fact that he could not invade her mind and so she could keep secrets from him. And Dumbledore also seemed to register the fact that Ginny had a job to do and whilst it might seem like she wasn't doing anything, he could not interfere. Instead he was instructing her things that many fully graduated wizards did not know how to or simply could not do.

The two of them revelled in this teaching situation. Ginny soaked in all of the information he gave her and read up on some of the less obscure teaching points and then put that information to practical use. Ginny wasn't as smart as Hermione, she wasn't as magically strong as Riddle and didn't have the same raw talent that Harry had. But she had a combination of all three skills and she refined her talent so she could bring out the very best of herself. And Dumbledore, for his part, gloried in teaching such a student – one that did not doze of put paid him rapt attention for every word he said, one that was willing to contradict him and ask questions.

'Now, Ginny, it is quite clear that you have successfully mastered wandless magic. Whilst directing specified spells your aim still isn't perfect, but that is something you can practice in your own time, I would like to move on to the next topic,' Dumbledore informed her.

Ginny nodded once, unblinkingly, her gaze never wavering from the older wizard.

'There is a brand of magic that Buddhist monks specialised in, known as _Inadfectatus Magicus_, or 'unaffected magic'. As I'm sure you are aware Buddhists spend a lot of time meditating and they believed that once you reached the right state of mind and let go of all worldly things you would attain _bodhi_, an awakening. Only one man in recorded history has been able to achieve this, and he was the founder of their religion, Guatama 'Siddhartha' Buddha.

'Guatama was not a wizard, yet during his forty five days of meditation he managed to reach inside himself and came in contact with his magical core – this was named his _bodhi_. He is not the only Muggle to achieve this, but he is the most recognised in the religious world.

'Every single person in this world has a magical core, but to be classed as a wizard or witch they need to have a certain level of energy within themselves, or an awareness of that magical core. There are two fundamental types of wizards. There are those that have very little magical energy but are born with the knowledge that they are the wielders or magic, no matter how little or how much. Then there are those that are unaware of their magical core, but is at such a level that it can not be ignored.

'For each person there is the potential to fully recognise and connect with their magical potential, but the majority of people can never fulfil their potential because they are not connected. There are always opportunities to connect to our magical cores, but you have to be jolted into the realisation through a personal experience which will vary from person to person.

'In the case of Guatama Buddha he was brought up in a sheltered environment and then was presented with four sights; death, old age, illness and strong belief. Having never faced any of these before he wanted to know more. Six years later he came in contact with his magical core through his meditation of the world as it is and his attachment and isolation from it all. It was that deep contemplation and understanding that he connected to his magical core.

'Buddhists from that day to this follow his teachings and try themselves to achieve _bodhi_, or connection to their magical core, but without full realisation of what that means. Very, very few people actually achieve it and, more often than not, these people are either squibs or wizards that simply want to achieve more from themselves. Muggle Buddhists are unaware of what _bodhi_ actually means, in relation to magic, and it is therefore that much harder for them to achieve it.

'Guatama Buddha is one of about thirty people throughout all of history that were born Muggles and died Wizards or Witches. The most famous of these were the German scientist, Albert Einstein and the American black people freedom fighter, Martin Luther King.'

At this point Ginny felt she must ask, 'all men?'

Dumbledore chuckled at that. 'It is actually more common for women to come in contact with their magical core, but throughout Muggle history women have played an inferior part. That is to say, they have guided and directed things from behind the scenes and letting their menfolk take all the blame when they make a mistake. Some people believe that Cleopatra came in contact with her magical core, but this theory is based purely on speculation. Most people believe Cleopatra was simply a witch.'

Ginny nodded slowly, absorbing everything that Dumbledore had said. It made sense. Take her Harry, for example. He did not know until he was eleven that he was a wizard, yet he had an indefinable raw skill that suggested, on some level, that he had always known that he had magic. Couple that with the fact that he had a great deal of magic at his command Harry represented, even at the age of one, a formidable opponent for Voldemort. Ginny suddenly realised why Voldemort had been so determined to finish off Harry and gloried so much in his final defeat.

'So what do you want me to do? Connect with my magical core?' Ginny asked.

Dumbledore chuckled again. 'I'm not expecting you to do that, Miss Craigson. Indeed, if you could do so it would be miraculous. Though it is more common for wizards and witches to fully connect than it is for Muggles, it is still very rare. I myself am not connected to my magical core.'

Ginny marvelled in this for a moment. Dumbledore – the infallible _Dumbledore_ – was not connected to his magical core. Something inside her pointed and laughed. Her Harry had done something Dumbledore had never done – and he had done it aged only eleven! Another part of her wanted to achieve it herself so that she could hold it over Dumbledore's head. Childish as it was she wanted to be able to dance around him and chant 'I can do something you can't do,' over and over again. Ginny let herself smirk for a moment before once again concentrating on Dumbledore's words.

'_Inadfectatus Magicus _involves other aspects. The two most common branches are suicide and self-levitation. I don't know how much you know about kamikaze wizards, but they have all perfected the suicide aspect of unaffected magic. Any wizards or witches serious about meditation will have some kind of mastery over the self-levitation side of it. There are, of course, many other branches, but these are the two major ones, because of their popularity.

'What the phrase _Inadfectatus Magicus_ or unaffected magic means is that the magic is unaffected by the wielding of it. It is the art of casting a spell upon oneself without the use of a wand or words. The majority of wizards and witches inadvertently cast it upon themselves on an almost daily basis – that is one of the reasons why the magical population accumulate less spots during their teenagers than Muggles do.'

Ginny was startled into laughter at that comment from Dumbledore. Of all the examples he could have used he decided to go for the lack of _zits_? Maybe Dumbledore really hadn't changed all that much over the next fifty years.

Dumbledore continued as if Ginny had not made any noise, though his eyes were sparkling with more vivacity than before. 'Because the spell is passing straight from the core into the human body the number of atomic particles it passes through is dramatically reduced so the amount of energy lost to the vacuum in between those particles is also reduced. The amount of energy needed to force the magic out of the wand and to the correct target is also lessened.

'Though the amount of energy saved is, in proportion to the amount that is still used, incredibly small, it is still noticeable. Therefore, to try and cast a spell on yourself and yourself along is incredibly hard. Nine times out of ten that spare magic will overflow and the surrounding objects will also be subject to the spell.'

'Is that how Kamikaze wizards work?' Ginny asked. 'By increasing the magical flow, then casting it on themselves so that the magical energy ovrflows and kills everyone around them as well?'

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. 'That is correct. To cast the Avada Kadavra would be to kill one person, regardless of whether you do it with a wand or not. If you cast it upon yourself the magic overflow cannot be directed in a specific direction and therefore kills everyone and everything within its path until the energy is drained. The side effect is, of course, that the caster will also die.'

'OK, so I guess we're not going to be working on the Avada Kadavra branch of _Inadfectatus Magicus_,' Ginny joked weakly. 'I suppose you want me to try the self-levitation?'

'Correct,' Dumbledore said. 'Whenever you're ready,' he prompted, sitting back down but this time not summoning his newspaper to himself.

Ginny closed her eyes and was immediately told to stop.

'Eyes open, Ginevra Craigson,' Dumbledore told her. 'How are you supposed to know if you are stopping the overflow if your eyes are shut?'

'But surely I can see them using my magic?' Ginny countered.

'But that will make the overflow more likely to happen, not less likely. Until you have managed to stop the energy overflow at least five times I want you to use your eyes to see, rather than your magic.'

Vaguely irritated by this, but obeying anyway, Ginny adjusted her position on the floor slightly and started concentrating on levitating herself.

In theory it should have been easy. Ginny had levitated Dumbledore wandlessly on multiple occasions, but turning the spell inwards was incredibly difficult. After ten minutes of nothing happening Ginny was more than irritated and sent a giant pulse of magic outward in the attempt to make herself float. It worked, but whilst she moved only a couple of centimetres off the floor every other object in the room, including a lot of the dust and dirt that had been trapped in the rub and floorboards leapt up several feet.

'Energy overflow,' Dumbledore told her cheerfully as Ginny swore and replaced everything to where it was, forgetting herself and landing with an uncomfortable thump on the floor. 'You did very well, though, I think you were about an inch off the floor.'

'Yes,' Ginny moaned, 'but everything else was way higher than that!'

Dumbledore chuckled at that. 'Frame of mind, Miss Craigson, it's all about your frame of mind. What are you?'

Ginny blinked stupidly for a couple of moments at that question. 'Who am I? I'm Ginevra Molly Craigson, aged 17, amateur witch.'

'No.' Dumbledore said. 'Not _who_ are you, but _what_.'

'Huh?' Ginny asked intelligently.

'What are you?' Dumbledore repeated.

'I'm a witch.'

'No,' Dumbledore said again. '_What_ areyou?'

Ginny said nothing for the final three minutes of the lesson, simply standing and staring at the Transfiguration teacher who stared blandly back, blue eyes twinkling madly.

'I believe that is the end of the lesson,' Dumbledore informed Ginny. 'You have no homework over the half term holiday, but when you return I expect you to be able to answer my question.'

Ginny nodded numbly and left the room, head buzzing full of possible answers to Dumbledore's vague question. What was she? Annoyed, irritated, in love, alone, happy, melancholy, a person, a witch, magical, unconnected to her magical core, from the future, confused, alone… so alone. And yet friends with so many people in this time. Ginny smiled. She may not yet know the answer, but it did remind her that although she was an anomaly in this time this was still her new home. The wizards and witches of this time were her friends – her new family.

Ginny rounded a corner and saw Tom – because he was Tom at the moment – picking on a couple of second years.

'Do you really think that's a good idea?' Tom was growling.

'W-what?' one, a girl with a yellow and black tie showing her house was Hufflepuff.

'You're in the snake pit, little badger, should you really be wondering aimlessly?'

'We-we got lost!' the other, a boy, squeaked.

Tom turned to the boy, eyes fierce and dark grey. 'Lost? _Lost_?' Tom laughed maliciously. 'You've been coming to this school for nearly two year and you're _lost_,' he hissed. 'Don't you think I ought to punish you for that?'

The two second years seemed to actually shrink under Tom's ferocious gaze. Ginny sniggered and Tom looked up to see her leaning casually against the wall, one foot hooked behind the other. The poor second years seemed to think the apocalypse had come early.

'Tut, tut, Tom,' Ginny gently chastised him, her heart leaping as his eyes softened as they met hers. 'Picking on kids four years younger than you? Surely you should pick on someone your own size.'

'Don't pretend like you care, Craigson,' Tom ground out, but Ginny could tell he was merely putting on a show for his prey.

Ginny smirked and stood up straight and made her way towards him, fluttering her eyelashes once or twice for good measure as she said, 'Oh, but Tom, _darling_, you know how much I care.'

Tom ground his teeth audibly and Ginny almost burst into laughter then and there.

She turned to the two second years. 'Follow the main route of the corridor and take the third left until you find a staircase. Go up two floors. You'll be just down the corridor from the ground floor boys' toilets, I'm sure you'll be able to find your way from there,' Ginny told them, trying her best to keep a stoic expression before they scampered off, still looking very pale but somewhat relieved.

Tom tsked. 'They didn't even thank you,' he said. 'Ungrateful brats.'

This time Ginny really did laugh. 'Any particular reason why you were terrorising second years or did you just feel like it?'

'Oh, so suddenly I need a _reason_?' Tom replied sourly.

Ginny's smirk grew and she leant up to kiss his jaw once, softly. 'Come on, I'm hungry.'

Tom offered her his hand and Ginny took it with a grin, the young couple walking slowly in the direction of the Great Hall and dinner.

As they climbed another set of stairs they were surprised to see Theodore facing away from them unmoving.

'Ted?' Ginny called up at him. 'Theodore?'

But he didn't reply to her calls, didn't even move. In her heart of hearts Ginny knew what that meant, but she refused to acknowledge it. Slipping her hand from Tom's she raced up the stairs and round Tom's immobile body to look him in the face. And her heart sank.

'Oh, Tom,' she breathed, 'what have you done?'

'Done? I haven't done anything!' the boy said, making his way up after her at a more sedate place. 'Not recently anyway,' Tom muttered, earning himself a hard thwack on the back of the head from his girlfriend.

'Tom, quit joking around! Look at him! _Look _at Theodore!'

Tom turned his attention away from Ginny and looked, finally at the other Slytherin boy. 'Oh damn,' he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

Ginny heard his words, but paid them no attention. She had been watching Tom closely ever since her arrival in this time almost five months ago now. She knew what he was feeling and when. She knew when he was hiding an emotion or pretending to hide an emotion or hiding an emotion with another, fake emotion. In the backs of his eyes there was a malicious, vindictive glee that was almost completely hidden by the faux shock he had plastered across his face.

'Tom,' Ginny nudged him gently. 'What did you do?'

'Nothing,' he lied.

'Don't make me enter your mind,' Ginny threatened gently; so gently it didn't even sound like a threat. But Tom knew it was.

'Don't threaten me, Ginevra. You have no control over me,' he told her harshly.

Ginny sighed sadly, clasping her hands together behind her back. She closed her eyes briefly and removed the Slytherin mask from her face. When she opened her eyes again they were blazing with the very soul of her Gryffindor side, her white hot anger and frustration clear on her features. Then she combined it with her Slytherin side so when she spoke her words were so eerily calm it sent shivers down her own back – let along Tom.

'No control, Tom? You know who I am. You know where I am from and you know who haunts my nightmares. Now tell me again that I have no control over you,' she told him as if telling him it might rain later.

Tom's eyes darkened almost to black but it wasn't in anger or fear. His eyes went dark with pure lust for her. 'You are magnificent, Gin,' he said, his voice thick. 'You're right, of course. You have more control over me than anyone or anything in this world. And I, in return, have control over you.' He slammed forward so he had her pressed against the wall, his arousal clear.

'I know who haunts your nightmares,' he continued. 'Does it turn you on, Ginny? Does it make you hot to know that I will kill your family? Do you feel powerful knowing that my murderous, black heart is resting in your hands?'

'We're playing with fire, Tom,' Ginny returned, her own darkened eyes filled with lust to match his. 'How can I help but feel hot?'

His laugh was deep, evil and delicious. When had he become Riddle? No – no, he wasn't Riddle. This was the convergence of Tom and Riddle. This was Voldemort. 'You'll get burnt, little Ginny,' he warned her.

'I'm already in ashes,' she returned. 'And it was worth it, to feel the fire.'

'What's it like?' Tom asked, face nuzzling into the join between her neck and shoulder.

Ginny sighed and rolled her head back to give him better access. 'It's wonderful,' she told him. 'It's like your entire being is going to explode from feeling. And you feel so completely _alive_. It lasts for all of eternity, that wondrous pleasure, but it's over so soon.'

'And after?' he prompted, suckling at her shoulder. 'What's it like after?'

Ginny smiled dreamily. 'There's a sense of loss, but it is nothing compared to the satisfaction you feel. Everything makes sense, everything is complete. In some ways afterwards is even better than actually doing it.'

Voldemort licked the spot he had been sucking at gently then moved his head so that his forehead was rested against Ginny's. 'Will you burn with me, Ginny?' he asked her.

Ginny's smile was beautiful. It was unrestrained and heartfelt. She had not smiled like that in a good part of a year. And it made Voldemort's heart leap to his throat. So strange that his love and lust for her was what made the two so wholly different parts of himself meet and embrace for the first time.

'Will you burn with me?' he asked again, his voice soft, softer than cotton wool and smoother than silk, caressing her like his fingers stroking her cheek.

Ginny closed her eyes, her smile ever constant. 'We're already burning, Tom. Like the sun and the moon, you and I. We've been burning for each other all our lives, we just never realised before now. And someday, someday soon, we can cross the space between us and burn together.'

'Soon,' Voldemort promised.

'Soon,' Ginny promised.

Voldemort stepped back and watched with mild amusement as Ginny refastened the top button of her blouse that at some point during his ministrations to her neck had become undone and straightened her tie.

'Now, Tom, I do believe you owe me an explanation,' Ginny reminded him with a smirk, her Slytherin mask slipping back into place.

'Are you sure you weren't Slytherin in the future?' Voldemort asked doubtfully.

Ginny's smirk grew. 'If I was do you think I'd have the courage to do half of what I do?'

Voldemort's smirk matched hers. Then he was Tom again; Riddle retreating to the back of his mind. 'Come on, I'll tell you more later, first we have to let Dumbledore know about Theodore.'

'And Eileen,' Ginny added.

Tom blinked. 'Why does she need to know?'

Ginny felt like hitting him. Or rolling her eyes. She settled for the latter. 'If it was me who was petrified how would you like to find out? By the person who discovered me telling you? Or by picking it up through the Hogwarts rumour mill?'

'You will never be petrified so it is not a matter,' Tom said dryly.

Ginny rolled her eyes again. 'I'm talking hypothetically here. Anything is possible. Theodore here is a pureblood Slytherin. Out of everyone in this school, surely he would be one of the last to be attacked?'

Tom sniffed and chose not to say anything. He finished writing the message and enchanted the piece of paper to find and alert the nearest teacher. He watched it zoom off emotionlessly.

Ginny watched his lack of expression with a sour taste in her mouth. Everything was come and go with Tom. One second anything and everything could happen, the next and the slightest move would destroy everything. One moment he would be feeling everything so acutely he was so high-wired it felt like he could snap at any moment. The next he was emotionless. What would it take to make him into some kind of resemblance of normality?

Did she truly _want_ him to be normal?

Ginny looked back at the stature that Theodore had become. Even like this, with shock and slight anger smeared across his features, body twisted into a slightly awkward angle, even now he had the physique of a chaser. He had a lithe form, and was slightly taller than Tom, who already towered over Ginny. His face was handsome even, with the ugly expressions currently residing there.

Where did Eileen go wrong? How did Eileen go from this to an abusive husband who would beat her to death? Strong, handsome Theodore who had always loved her in a way that only Slytherins know how. Gryffindors always assumed that Slytherins were unfeeling and icy cold. It was true that it took a lot for a Slytherin to fall in love – it had to be their perfect match. But when they did…

When they found someone they loved they loved that person like they loved themselves. They would do anything and everything they could until, ultimately, their love's life came before their own. That kind of ferocity in the cultured, formal society that Slytherins lived in meant that when the walls came down, when nothing mattered or when no one was watching they would burn so brightly everyone else became blind to it.

Ginny and Tom were only just falling in love. They'd only just realised that they had both found someone who they could care about more than themselves. Ginny had experienced it before, with Harry, but this time… this time she was loving a Slytherin. The ultimate Slytherin. A Slytherin who had never cared for anything or anyone except himself and surviving. Harry had loved everyone, but Ginny had Tom all to herself. And she was only just beginning to understand what that meant.

Tom was watching Ginny's expression closely as she went into her silent reverie. He had been watching her closely, ever since her arrival at Hogwarts and knew, now, how to read her. He still wasn't very good at it and she still surprised him occasionally – he still, on some level, expected her to wear her heart on her sleeve.

He watched as her eyes flickered from emotion to emotion and wasn't sure whether he should feel extremely pleased or jealous when he saw the love that shone out of those chocolate orbs. It was strange, this feeling in his chest. Tom had never before cared for anything except living. One day he wanted to rule the world and get revenge for the wrongs done to him as a child and that made his chest tighten and expand too. But this was different. A different expansion, a different fluttering of the heart, a different excitement coursing through his veins as he knew that Ginny, no matter how hard she tried to pull away, was now his. Part of him wanted her to struggle, to try and fight this feeling they shared. Another, larger part of him, wanted her to be beside him in his glories and his failures, to hold him and love him.

Love. Such a strange, entirely inadequate word. Four letters. One syllable. Two sounds. A million different meanings.

Tom and Ginny were both shaken back to the real world as Professor Slughorn raced around the corner, Headmaster Dippet behind him.

'What happened here?' the Potions teacher demanded.

Ginny choked, no one but Tom knowing that it was all an act as her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. 'I – I don't know. We… we just arrived and – and he was like this!'

Slughorn rushed forwards once again to examine the frozen student.

Dippet, however, stayed where he was eyeing Ginny and Tom calculatingly. 'And what were the two of you doing here alone?'

'We were heading up to the Great Hall for our supper, Headmaster,' Tom replied.

'Just the two of you?'

'Yes, sir. Ginevra finished her last lesson of the day late and so I waited for her to escort her up the Great Hall,' Tom said smartly. Only Ginny could see the underlying scorn and irritation.

'Miss Craigson, I am well aware that in recent years the expectations of young ladies has changed, but I still do not expect to find you alone again in the company of Mr Riddle,' the headmaster told them.

Ginevra bit back her retort, knowing that it would just earn her a detention. She could see the muscles in Tom's neck clench as he too held back what, exactly, he though of that comment.

Then, as was his way, Dumbledore appeared seemingly out of nowhere. 'Forgive me headmaster, but surely it is more important to sort out what has happened to Mr Grant than what these two, _respectable_ students have been up to.' His eyes twinkled fiercely and this time when Ginny bit her lip it was to stop from giggling. It wasn't particularly funny, it was just such a… Snape-y thing to say. Without the twinkly eyes, of course. Loathe as she was to admit it Ginny missed the Potions Master who may well have been the one to save the world. If nothing else he certainly saved _her_.

As the teachers turned to inspect Theodore Ginny felt Tom nudge at her mind, question clear: _who are you thinking about?_ Ginny sent him a couple of her memories of Snape and of just whose son he was. Then she showed him the final scene before Ginny had come back to 1943.

'Am I really that hideous?' the teenager whispered to her so the teachers wouldn't overhear.

'You have no idea,' Ginny whispered back, winking at him.

Tom pretended to look annoyed at her response, but failed miserably. He had never cared much for his appearance.

'Professors?' Ginny asked after another couple of minutes. 'Do you need us for anything or is it alright if we go?'

Dippet waved vaguely at them, not turning his gaze from the immobile Theodore. Dumbledore nodded once at them before he too returned his attention to the petrified student. This was more than enough of a signal for Ginny and Tom and they hastened away and along another couple of corridors before reaching the Great Hall.

'I don't get it,' Ginny said once they were out of ear shot. 'We're not that far from the Great Hall and that's one of the most commonly used staircases to and from the dungeons – why hasn't anyone else noticed him? Why didn't anyone else run into us while we were there?'

Tom looked a little sheepish, which was a strange expression that Ginny never expected to see on his face. 'When we first discovered Theodore I – uh – _may_ have out up repelling charms. I removed them as soon as I sent that note to the teachers, of course,' he added hastily.

Ginny laughed. 'You put up…' she couldn't continue, instead she grabbed his arm and hooked hers through his. 'You are too sweet, Mr Riddle.'

'Sweet?' he asked, raising an eyebrow, daring her to say it again. Which, naturally, Ginny did.

'Yes, _sweet_. I mean, when you're not unleashing basilisks on unsuspecting students,' her tone was mildly teasing, but he caught the seriousness in it, and her need for an explanation.

'Later,' he said. 'I'll show you later.'

'Show me?'

Tom nodded. 'I know everything about you. I think it's time you know everything about me.'

Ginny shook her head sadly. 'I've shown you a lot, Tom, but you don't know everything about me.'

'Then how do I know you're an animagus? You've never told me that. How do I know that you were secretly jealous of your twin brothers? How do I know that when I called you to the Chamber of Secrets during your first year at Hogwarts you only _pretended_ to be scared?'

Ginny stared at Tom, her mouth hanging open in blatant shock. 'How… how do you _know_ that? I've never told anyone, not even Harry about those things. Only Eileen knows I'm an animagus, and she wouldn't have told anyone.'

'She didn't tell me, if that's what you're wondering,' Tom assured her.

Ginny shook her head in wonder, then took Tom's arm again. 'Very well then, sweet, we shall dine and then, I believe, you have a story I wish to hear.'

'Sweet?' he asked again in exasperation.

Ginny just laughed.

* * *

Dinner at the Slytherin table was an awkward affair, which resulted in Eileen's speedy departure before anyone had taken a bite of the main course. Ginny had been reluctant to tell her new best friend about her new boyfriend straight away, but it was for the best. It would have been worse if they had left it until they end of the meal – this way Eileen was just feeling upset, not betrayed as well.

Everyone else ate very little as a sombre mood settled over the table. When it was the Hufflepuff boy who had been petrified it was an interesting story – a juicy piece of gossip. When it was one of their own – and a pureblood at that – it was a different story. No one looked out for the Slytherins, so they looked out for their own. And it was one of their own who had been taken.

Ginny watched Tom closely throughout the meal, remembering the look on his face when they had discovered Theodore. It didn't matter that the boy had been a Slytherin or a pureblood. What mattered to Tom was that whatever plan he had made he had pulled it off successfully. And so Ginny watched to make sure he did not reveal any of that glee to the other Slytherins. They may respect and fear him, but he could not fight all of them at once and as much as Ginny wanted Tom to be shown why it was fundamentally wrong she didn't want whatever the Slytherins would come up with to happen to him.

Ginny pitied Eileen. She and Ted had been together under a week. He had finally asked her out and they had gone on their first and only date the following day. A Hogsmeade day. Ginny frowned as she tried to remember what she had done on that day. She remembered… she remembered green. And she remembered, in her mind's eye, a portrait of a man speaking straight into her mind. But where and who the portrait had been Ginny could not fathom. And that green… what _was_ that green? Why did she remember it and why was it so prominent in her memories? Why could she not remember anything else of that Sunday?

Then, suddenly, she found she didn't care. Her face formed itself into a cheerful expression without her telling it to and she shook her head to clear her mind, to focus again on how Eileen must be feeling right now. In the back of her mind Ginny had a niggling feeling that she was missing something big and vital, but try as she might she could not think or what, or even _why_ she was missing something. The next second Ginny couldn't even remember thinking of the Sunday five days previous.

'Ginevra?' Tom asked in a neutral tone – heaven forbid that he might show concern for her in public.

'I'm fine, just a bit of a head ache,' Ginny lied, knowing that he knew she was lying. Neither of them said anything else, each having only a mouthful of two or the delectable dessert.

They were among the last to leave the Slytherin table that night, and even then they left the table earlier than usual. The rest of the hall was quiet as Ginny and Tom left arm in arm. It wasn't that the school hadn't seen them arm-in-arm before, it was just the first time they had seen them walking so in such a sombre mood. Generally if the couple were touching they were at least pretending to be happy. This time as they left both of their expressions were emotionless and unreadable.

Ginny's smile flickered on her face for a moment before she gave up. Who cared what the rest of the world thought?

'Now are you ready for the reasoning behind all of this?' Tom asked her once the Great Hall's doors had swung shut behind them.

'No,' Ginny replied, surprising her companion. 'Understanding what you are doing and changing it might dictate the fate of this world, but Eileen is my best friend and she's in emotional distress. I need to make sure she gets some sleep.'

A look of fierce possessiveness swamped Tom's expression before he could stop it and Ginny allowed herself to smile the small, satisfied smile of a woman who knows she has the man she wants. Then she placed a hand behind Tom's head and brought it down, meshing her lips against his. The kiss was desperate and slightly painful. Their teeth clashed against each other and when Tom stood straight again both his and her lips were raw and slightly bruised. It was swift and not exactly pleasurable, but it was everything a kiss was supposed to be.

'I'll sort out Eileen and meet you again at eleven in the common room, alright?' Ginny asked him.

Tom kissed her again, this time more gently and nodded, holding on to her hand as long as he could before her fingers slipped from his and she was striding off in the opposite direction to find Eileen in the hospital wing. Tom saw her glance once over her shoulder just before she turned a corner and allowed himself a small, satisfied smile of a man who knows he has the woman he wants. Then she was gone from sight and he was standing alone in the corridor. Tom closed his eyes briefly, smile slipping from his lips. Then he headed off to the Slytherin common room.

* * *

Ginny walked slowly into the hospital wing to find the nurse vainly trying to get Eileen to move away from the prone figure of Theodore.

'Elly?' Ginny asked her friend gently, using the nickname she knew Eileen had been called as a small girl. When Eileen didn't move or look up Ginny stretched forward a hand, resting it on Eileen's shoulder, steadfastly ignoring the glares the nurse was sending her.

As soon as her hand touched Eileen the other girl swung around and through her arms around Ginny's middle, holding her in an almost painfully tight embrace. Ginny just wrapped an arm around her friend and stroked her other hand through the other girl's hair again and again, letting her sob it out.

They stayed like that for some time, Eileen sobbing her heart out against Ginny's chest and Ginny whispering soothing, meaningless phrases in Eileen's ears. Finally Eileen calmed down and loosened her death grip on Ginny.

'I'm sorry,' Eileen murmured shamefully, using the hands to try and dry her tear stained, blotchy face.

'It's fine, Elly. Believe me when I say that I would be in just as much of a state if it was Tom on the hospital bed,' Ginny assured her friend, offering a small smile.

Eileen gave a tiny, watery smile in response before straightening completely. 'Thank you,' she said. 'I don't suppose anything you said to me made an awful lot of sense, and I didn't take any of it in… but thank you. For just being there.'

It was Ginny's turn to smile sadly. 'You forget, Eileen. You are far from the first that I have comforted. It's a skill that I have, unfortunately, had far too many opportunities to hone to perfection.'

'I suppose my case is one of the least severe,' Eileen said in self-depreciation.

'Not at all,' Ginny said. 'I've comforted everything from deaths to broken nails. Considering that you are deeply, hopelessly in love with Ted and probably weren't listening to the nurse when she explained the potion to wake him up will be finished in about a month, this is probably one of the more severe cases.' Ginny said her entire mini-speech in complete sincerity, but it made Eileen smile and hug her again in appreciation.

'You know, Gin, you really are a fantastic person,' Eileen told her before leaving Theodore a kiss on the cheek and allowing the older girl lead her back down to the Slytherin common room.

Ginny heard Eileen's comment and watched her show of affection fir Theodore and couldn't help the unbidden question of 'am I?' run through her head. But she quickly pushed it to the side and smiled at her new best friend, the two of them chatting about petty, unimportant things to distract themselves from the petrified boy in the hospital wing and the sudden lack of self-confidence.

When the two girls got back to their dormitory they explained only very briefly to the other sixth year girls that Theodore was alive, but petrified and then headed upstairs to get ready for bed – neither of them wanted to face the host of questions that surely faced them. The other girls, however, seemed to understand this and also made their way up to bed shortly afterwards.

It was Friday. It was the last day of school before a week off. This evening was supposed to be spent fooling around in the common room getting pissed and playing stupid games like Truth and Dare and I Never with cheap firewhiskey. Instead, when Ginny went back down to the common room at eleven the room seemed hollow. Empty. Everyone – even the first years who probably couldn't understand the enormity of what was going on – had gone to bed. Ginny sat down in her favourite armchair with a sigh. She flung her legs over one of the arms and slipped down into her usual, sideways position.

Another couple of minutes passed before Tom appeared in the common room and when he got there baulked at what she was dressed in. 'You're wearing trousers, 'he said. '_Tight_ trousers.'

Ginny looked down at the pair of pyjama bottoms that she had transfigured to look like her favourite pair of jeans in the future. True, they _were_ a bit tight, but surely nothing too unreasonable? Judging from Tom's expression she was wrong.

'Look, if it's going to distract you I'll change them,' she said. 'But these are really comfy and easy to move in.' She looked purposefully at Tom's own trousers, which were very similar to hers, though not made out of cotton-jeans.

Tom smirked in a predatory way and assured her that it was absolutely fine to wear those trousers. 'So long as no one else sees you in them,' he added.

Ginny smirked right back at him and gave him a friendly, two fingered salute. 'Now, sweet, there's something you want to show me, isn't there?'

Tom groaned. 'Don't,' he ground out, 'call me that.'

Ginny's smirk grew even larger. 'Sorry, _sweet_,' she said, sounding wholly unrepentant. 'Shall we?' she asked and offered him her hand. He took it, still scowling and they each cast a glamour over themselves that would reduce the chances of being seen.

As they walked through the empty, silent corridors it didn't take Ginny long to realise where they were headed. She had been there so many times whilst she was at Hogwarts, both during her first year and after. Whether it was a sense of nostalgia, or the hope to reconnect with the innocent part of herself that she lost during her first year Ginny did not know. Either way they were headed towards the third floor girls' bathroom and the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

The journey was brief and passed in silence. Ginny felt the hand holding Tom's become slick, but whether it was from her own sweat, his, or a combination of both she did not know and did not care. Her other hand clenched over the handle of her wand that she had slipped into her belt. She knew that, theoretically, now that she knew wandless magic the piece of wood was more of a hindrance than a help, but it was a weapon and it made her feel better to know that it was there. The movement did not escape Tom's notice, even with the disillusionment charms in effect, but he said nothing.

They arrived and Tom stared at the sink with the snake carving for a moment before he started hissing and gargling at it. As he did so his eyebrows rose in question to Ginny, as to whether she could understand or not. Ginny just shook her head once. When she was a snake she could, but not now that she was human. Apparently the skill of Parseltongue was still something she'd have to learn from scratch, if she wanted to understand without changing to her Animagus form.

The sinks swung aside noisily and revealed the set of stairs that Ginny had become intimately acquainted with last weekend. More and more of last Sunday was revealing itself as they strode down the stairs. There was – anger. Tom had been angry. Except, his face had been a blank – he had been Riddle. And she had become a snake and called herself… Nygin? Nagini? Surely she hadn't called herself the name of Voldemort's future familiar? Ginny shook her head to try and clear it, perhaps if she was lucky she'd be able to discover the route of all this before she had to, once again, face it.

Tom cast several side long glances at the girl clinging to his hand – or was it he clinging to her? It was hard to tell. Ginny's face was an emotionless mask, but her brown eyes were at their most expressive and Tom knew that she was recovering memories from her last trip down here. He himself knew the feeling.

Every time he came to Chamber of Secrets he remembered a little more about his trips, but never anything of significance and he always woke, later, with the knowledge that he had lost more than he gained. But that insatiable curiosity that was welled deep inside him could not be satisfied until he knew what was going on. Perhaps this time, with Ginny, he'd stand a better chance of remembering.

Part of him didn't want to remember. There was an air of foreboding hanging around that darkened area of his mind, like the house was still upright, but had long since been abandoned and left to its secrets. And he had a feeling that he had come down here with Ginny before, though she had not been human at the time, and the 'session' had ended worse than it usually did. But that didn't make sense; how could Ginny not be in human form? On that first day – or was it second? It didn't matter – that she was at the school he had asked if she had been an Animagus. Out right asked. And she had denied.

Then Tom remembered Ginny and Eileen's increasingly close friendship and there frequent disappearances from the Slytherin common room, they couldn't possibly… could they? There was no denying that Eileen was an ace at potions, it was something that had long irked him. But the complex charms? And the time that the first potion took to brew… damn it! He had been the one to put the idea in her head and Ginny had gone and actually done it! Without him! Maybe that's what hurt the most; the fact that Ginny hadn't included him in her plan, only Eileen. Two _girls_.

As if sensing something was wrong Ginny picked up the hand she was clutching and kissed the back of his palm gently. She didn't need to be a Leglimens to know that Tom was starting to regret bringing her down here – it was written plainly across his feature. Here, in the dark, where there was no one to see but her, there was no need for his mask.

Before she knew it they were through the Chamber and down the next step of stairs and in a room flooded with green soul light, facing a portrait of an old man sat crouched over a large wooden desk and surveying them with more insight than the great Dumbledore would ever be capable of.

'Nygin,' the portrait greeted Ginny cordially, nodding at Tom as well.

'Nagini,' Tom automatically corrected, his mind only catching up with his mouth after the word had been said.

'Perhaps, perhaps not, young _Lord Voldemort_,' the portrait said in a tone that suggested so many possibilities and ruled them all out in the same moment.

Ginny smirked. 'He's Tom at the moment,' she decided to join the… conversation? Could it be called that?

Salazar Slytherin smirked back a strange sort of pride glowing in his eyes. 'Indeed, little snakelette. Tell me, how did you survive so many years in Gryffindor?'

Ginny's eyes widened. Ah. So she was the snake in the lions' den, not the other way around. 'There's a rumour,' she started, deliberating, 'that says that only the most blunt of Slytherins will actually announce their heritage by being sorted there, and the most subtle will be sorted elsewhere.'

Salazar's laughter was a strange thing to hear, to be true. It rang true, but it had a crisp, merciless edge to it that said, though humoured, the next comment must be carefully placed.

'But then, of course, they also say that death is the next great adventure. Tell me, Lord Slytherin, is that true?' Ginny asked, hesitating only momentarily over her address of Salazar.

'Curious little thing, aren't you?' he asked rhetorically. 'Do you know why you chose the name Nygin?'

Ginny blushed a little. 'No – I don't know. Nagini was the name of Voldemort's snake and, since I was snake and Tom is supposed to become Voldemort I though it appropriate.'

Salazar raised an eyebrow in a way scarily reminiscent of Ginny's Potion's Master. 'To suppose Mr Riddle is to become Voldemort is a risky reckoning, snakelette. Do you know why he chose the name Voldemort?'

Ginny raised her wand and spelled out Tom's full name in the air and then rearranged the letters. She remembered Harry's recollection of the evening and it seemed appropriate to re-enact it.

_TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE_

_I AM LORD VOLDEMORT_

Tom watched this action in surprise. He had not realised that his name was an anagram of the name that had been chosen for him. But that was interesting information indeed. To say that it was valuable would be, perhaps, to read too much into the situation, but interesting it was most definitely.

'Now,' Salazar continued. 'Nagini is one of the modern versions of the route name Nygin. Now, tell me, my dear – what do you get when you rearrange the letters of that name?'

Ginny's brow was furrowed slightly in a small, almost elegant frown as she raised her wand once again, wiping the letters that still floated in the air and wrote, instead, Nygin. She studied it for no more than a few seconds before her eyes widened almost unbelievably wide. With a slight flick of her wand the letters switched places, revealing something that made Tom's jaw drop. Well. That was unexpected.

_NYGIN_

_GINNY_

'You are the timeless one,' Salazar said solemnly. 'You belong neither here, fifty years in the future or fifty years in the past. You do not belong and have had and will have so many names only two remain the same. Ginny. Meaningless. With so many meanings those meanings become worthless. And Nygin. An age old God that has been lost for so many millennia no one remembers her name, except you. Because you are named by the cosmos after the soul saver. Whether it be the original; Nygin – an anagram of your first name – or the more modern version that Tom favours; Nagini.'

'What about Molly?' Ginny asked. 'I was Ginevra Molly and I still am.'

'But you won't be,' Salazar told her. 'One day soon you will tire of the names Molly Craigson.'

'How do you know?'

Salazar steepled his fingers. 'Prophecies are strange, beautiful, deadly things,' was all he said. Then, 'I believe you wanted access?'

Tom nodded dumbly and the portrait swung forward.

And the second shock of the evening flooded over them and Tom knew why he wanted to know, but didn't. And Ginny knew why her mind was so confused about the previous Sunday. She wouldn't have let her get away with it either.

The face. The face that was so similar, yet so strange. That housed a voice, though it had yet to speak, would also seem so familiar. And yet so _aged_. For this familiar face was not younger. Far from it. This face was the _older_ version.

The older version of Ginny.

And the previous weekend came rushing back in a blizzard of pictures and noises and pure, unadulterated _feeling_. Ginny's hand twitched as if to clutch at her forehead. Beside her Tom, who had recalled everything that had been locked away, spanning almost an entire year's worth of weekly visits, fell to the floor, clawing at his face. Ginny turned to look at him and winced as the blood pounding in her head seemed to increase in pressure.

Then the green light that seemed to filter through everything and see everything split Tom into two. They were less substantial as separates than they were as a whole, but they were still very much living, breathing versions of Tom. There was only one thing that Ginny felt for sure at this point – that hadn't happened last time.

In her last visit she had recognised her own face – a face that had been haunting her peripheral vision for a week now – and then she had been knocked out. It seemed that this time the older version of herself wanted to know something. If she didn't Ginny knew that her future self would have no qualms about knocking her out and obliviating her all over again. This may be a version of herself fifty years older and eviller, but it was still _her_.

'Well that's just bloody great,' Ginny muttered, adopting some of Ron's mannerisms simply to surpass the weirdness of the situation. 'Now there's two of me _and_ two of him.'

The older version laughed. For Ginny that was also a spooky experience. It was her own laugh coming out of someone else's mouth. Except it wasn't someone else's mouth, it was her mouth. Ginny frowned again. Having a double was twice as confusing as time was.

'Do you have a problem with that?' one of the Tom's hissed in English so sibilant it might as well have been Parseltongue. How he mananaged to make sentence with no 's's in it sound like a hiss Ginny didn't know.

'Shut it, arse,' the other Tom snarled.

'Why? She's just another nobody, just like everyone else!'

'She's _Ginny_,' the second boy insisted.

The first looked up with grey eyes hard as steel. And they looked right into her brown ones. They did not gain another emotion, nor did they let their guard down, but when they registered that her heartbeat was so completely in time with his something deep inside the emotionless shell that made _Riddle _Riddle softened very, very slightly.

Ginny stepped closer to the Riddle part of Tom Riddle, the Tom part watching almost fearfully. She raised a hand and stroked the back of two of her fingers down his cheek. 'Two of you, sweet?' she asked. 'Not a problem. Not a problem at all.' Ignoring the slight protest he made at the nickname Ginny lowered her head to the kneeling boy's upturned face to kiss it.

Before her lips touched his, however (the other part of the boy watching with excited fascination) she was wrenched backwards and thrown across what she had presumed was a room. When she did not come in contact with a wall of any sort, despite being flub quite a way, Ginny realised that her presumption had been wrong.

'Don't touch her!' both parts of Tom Riddle shouted as one to the older Ginny, who ignored them, her gaze turning to the younger version.

Ginny was standing slowly, carefully, a thin thread of thick red liquid trickling from her temple. Her ankle seemed to be twisted, though, and upon her realisation of this fact stayed coiled up on the floor, looking very much akin to a wild cat cornered and injured but strong nonetheless.

'What are you doing to him?' Ginny – the younger Ginny – asked, her tone pleasant, but with daggers hidden underneath.

'Ginevra, it will take many, many years for you to understand Salazar's words, but do not doubt me; you will. And when you do, when _I_ did, you will know that time was always meant to be this way. What I am doing is what I, as you, remember me doing. I am crafting the perfect Lord Voldemort. Because it was meant to happen. And because nothing, especially one, lost, hopeless little girl, can change time itself.' The older Ginevra's tone was so perfectly crafted and measured it was like someone not particularly passionate, but not dispassionate either, talking about a subject that effected them, but only mildly.

'The time turner?' Ginny asked.

Ginevra nodded. 'I arrived in 1888 with no clue what was going on. We survive both of the Muggle world wars and the uprising and the downfall of Grindelwald. It's easy enough to make friends in this time, but back then it was a little harder.'

But Ginny wasn't listening any more. Numbers were swirling around her head; 1888, 55, 1943, 1944, 55, 1998, Salazar, Salazar, Nygin, _fifty-five!_ Ginny left the time she had been born in 1998, shortly before Christmas. She arrived in this time in 1943, shortly before Christmas; exactly fifty-five years' jump. Another fifty-five years before that was, indeed, 1888. But Ginny hadn't turned the time turner again yet and it wasn't 1943 anymore. It was now 1944. And 55 years before now was 1889.

'_Turn it once and no more_,' the voice of Severus Snape warned through the confusing curves of time and memory. What if she'd turned it twice and then gone mad from fifty five years of not being able to do anything to prevent her family and friends' deaths? It was the only conclusion to be had. Something didn't quite fit, but Ginny needed to get out of here first. Glancing around her she noticed in dismay that her older self had set up a huge, impossibly wide chasm circling all around her, preventing her escape. What now? The bat was still rattling on, maybe she would reveal some important information?

'… after all, when it comes down to it we're all only human. Only flesh, blood and bones. We live, we die and that's the end of it. So, you must understand, what I am doing, what _you_ will do, is all for the good of the world.'

What are you? _We're all only human. _What are you? _Only flesh, blood and bones._

Ginny smiled. Dumbledore was smart. Infuriating, but smart.

'What am I?' she asked no one in particular, and stepped over the chasm. She levitated for only a moment, and then she dropped like a rock into the magical, bottomless precipice.

_

* * *

_

A/N: O.o does you like it? What am I talking about? Of course you don't! Right now you're sitting there going 'I could kill her!!'

_My bad._

_Anyway, not much to say about this chapter. I have a strong feeling it's going to be either a you love it or you hate it kind of thing. If you don't like it, please tell me why and refrain from yelling at me. I apologise for the amount of description and explanation as I'm not sure how relevant it will all be. BUT I had so much fun writing this chapter it was unbelievable. So even if everyone out there hates me for it, right now I couldn't care less! (plus I got this chapter out really quickly, so there)  
__Much love to all my wonderful reviewers!  
__Cal  
__xxx_

_PS 'The Fate' much as I love your input and enthusiasm please don't place a second review on a chapter telling me to update as soon as possible. The message was received and understood the first time. I do my best to update as quickly as I can, but the chapters are really long! It takes time! And I have lots of other stuff I need to do as well… OK, I'll stop whining now. I'm sorry if I'm sounding rude.  
__C xxx_


	8. Beneath the Skin

_Hopeless_

_Everybody says it's just another decay of the soul  
But I know I'm a hopeless follower of anything to take me  
Away from this hole in the ground  
I found it's hopeless clinging to a feeling  
Like a fish on a line, so blinded by the lately  
Hopeless, no more saying that there's no more time._

_I've was trying far too hard  
To be what I thought I should be  
I was playing wild cards and  
Seeing things that weren't in front of me  
Like a little tiger, play fighting,  
I was hurting myself, again and again._

_Because I'm hopeless._

_Well I'm just discovering I'm living in a different body  
Caught a little insight into everything that's happening to me  
Like a little spider, I'm climbing the insurmountable  
But I'll never hold myself accountable, no._

_Because I'm hopeless._

_**Disclaimer: Harry Potter ™ belongs to JKR and WB. Song Lyrics (Hopeless) ©KT Tunstall**_

**Warning: Strong language and adult themes. Suggested reading age 14 or over.**

_**

* * *

**_

8: Beneath the Skin

Perhaps the hardest of punishments are those inflicted upon oneself. As Ginny fell through the darkness she wondered, vaguely, if the same held true when it was a version of yourself from the future... or the past... whatever it was. She spent a long time in that darkness, philosophising.

There were several aspects of the meeting that Ginny found incredibly interesting. If she allowed herself to feel she knew that she would be scared – so scared that it would paralyse her – which was why she wasn't looking that close. Ginny had dealt with quite a lot of shit during her life, mostly revolving around Voldemort. But this... this put an entirely new meaning into freakishly scary. Scary? No. More like terrifying. How could she from the future – past – so calmly, coolly kill herself? Or a version of herself. The whole ordeal was as confusing as it was scary.

The confusion was felt deeply – just how many versions of herself were there scattered through this one timeline? And what would happen if she successfully stopped Voldemort from becoming? Would she just disappear or carry on living as if nothing had happened? No. No matter what happened there was no way she could go on living like nothing had ever happened. There was no way she could forget – not even if she was hit with the strongest memory spell out there.

Ginny looked down at the chain that was still around her neck, pulling the pendant out of her blouse and holding it before her face, cancelling the glamour so that she could see it properly. There was some kind of circle filled with different symbols that were probably ancient runes. She traced the patterns with her finger tip, a small frown flitting across her brow. She knew from Hermione's explanation that Time Turners worked in one of two ways. There were their factory settings where, depending on which way they were flicked, they would transport the wearer back either days or hours. A time turner did not travel forwards through time, unless it recognised the wearer's magical signature and was commended to take the wearer back to the original time line.

Then there were the advanced settings. You could charm Time Turners to take you back a certain amount of time. It took a long time and a lot of magical energy to set the Time Turners, which must have been why Snape had taken the three months of Harry and Ginny's captivity to produce it. But it brought Ginny to the topic she had brushed against before she had foolishly attempted the _Inadfectatus Magicus_.

Time. So many possibilities. Ginny knew that she had left Voldemort – the old, wrinkly, no-nose, slit-eyed snake-y Voldemort – in 1998. She had travelled back in time and arrived in the Hogwarts grounds during the Christmas break in 1943 – that had been one of the first things she had asked Dumbledore. Judging from the fact that, as far as she could tell, it had been some time around Christmas when she had left Snape, wrinkly Voldemort and his masked Death Eaters she must have travelled back 55 years exactly. Well, give or take a day here or there.

The thought that Ginny might have 'celebrated' Christmas Day down in that horrible, stinking hell hole of a prison made her shudder, icy fingers running up and down her spine.

But, the thing that was nagging at Ginny's mind was those fifty five years. Now the red-head had never been the best at maths. She might enjoy it more, now that her temper had cooled somewhat, but especially as a young girl attending Muggle primary school Ginny had not had the attention span or cool headedness needed for long sums. But she could handle 1943 minus 55, even if it took her longer than it really aught to have done. 1888. Which was the same date that the older Ginny had claimed she had arrived back in.

But, the older Ginny had also claimed that she had once been in the younger Ginny's place – falling in love, making friends, talking to elusive school founders... And there was the next snag. Supposing the older Ginny really _had_ gone straight back to 1888, without the pit stop in 1943 that the younger one had made, how did she know about her conversation with Salazar?

The rest of the information could have been forced out of Tom... Riddle... Voldemort... whatever he was down there in the haunting, green room that was not a room. But the conversation they had held mere seconds beforehand with the founder? How had the older Ginny known about it?

A huge part of Ginny wanted to believe that she would not become the monster she had just met. She could handle loving Voldemort, but she could not handle _becoming_ that... thing. That thing that did not even deserve to be called human.

But a tiny, secret part of Ginny desperately, desperately wanted it to be true. Because if she became that monster then she could survive _this_. Knowing that she would live to be at least 72? It meant that if Tom/Riddle/Voldemort tried to kill her again she would live again. It meant that if everyone found out about who she was and where she came from she would survive. It meant that, even if she had to fight herself now, she would win. It meant that this endless, bottomless pit that she was still hurtling through had an end – had a bottom. It meant that Ginny would _live_, no matter what they threw at her. And that was a kind of assurance that everyone longed to have.

It did not, however, solve the problem of the fact that Ginny was still falling through a magically induced bottomless cavern. As Ginny tucked the Time Turner back into her blouse she couldn't help but think that magic, despite all it's advantages, really could be a bitch sometimes. Ginny frowned and struggled to remember anything about bottomless caverns – it was not a subject commonly broached either in official education or out of it.

Hermione would know. Harry would come up with an idea or two. Ron would be squinting, trying to see anything in the impenetrable black and hoping there weren't any spiders around. Ginny had always considered herself to be a comfortable mix between Hermione and Harry. Right now she felt more hopeless than Ron.

Hopeless was not a good feeling for anyone, but it was worse for Ginny. That dark, that black, that endless, ceaseless shadow and that smothering sense of complete and utter uselessness. It was so, so familiar. And then fear started wrapping its long, icy fingers around her lungs and heart, squeezing slowly, almost teasingly as Ginny found herself hyperventilating. Anything, anything to get a decent breath of air. Was it just her fear or was it something darker, more sinister?

Fat, boiling hot droplets of salt water brimmed over, but they couldn't even roll down her cheeks normally, she was falling so fast by now. Instead they rolled back into her eyes, stinging slightly and leaving a thick, liquid extra layer covering her eyes. The safety that she was searching for in the darkness would now never be seen, even if it was there.

Through the boiling wrath of her emotions Ginny heard Hermione's practical, friendly voice like a knife cutting through butter.

'_They can also return the wearer to their original time, if they recognise the magical signature...'_

Ginny couldn't think – didn't try to think – couldn't even _remember_ Snape's warning to her. She pulled frantically at the chain and, after finally freeing the pendant turned it once, not even daring to hope that it might take her to some place safe.

* * *

Keara sat in her room at Mrs Devenham's and stared out of her window at the gardens that spread like a multi-coloured blanket out the back of the orphanage. Keara loved the gardens here. She was one of about thirty children that Mrs Devenham cared for herself - the majority of children were passed on to 'official' orphanages. The matron was a wonderful, motherly woman and the children all loved her - in spite of her strictness.

The gardens were the pride and joy of Nicola and Jenny the only twins staying there. They were both eight and had taken to the rather sparse, barren looking land like ships to water until the garden had become a thing of beauty. Any of the children could help out if they wanted and Keara herself had her own little plot which currently housed a host of radishes that would be ready for picking any day.

Right now the garden was the only spot of colour in a grey world - it had been raining from the moment Keara had woken up and it was still raining now, after lunch. But more than that - it looked like a place of magic. Keara didn't know a lot about magic, but she did know that magic existed. Because she could perform magic. Just little things like after she straightened her bed the wrinkles that she couldn't quite flatten herself flattened themselves and when it was her turn to help cook dinner she never burnt anything, unlike the others.

Keara still remembered the two dreadful weeks she had spent at the last place. All her life Keara had been shoved from one house to a next and the last one had been the worst. She had been fed three times in those two weeks and beaten regularly. And, in the dead of night, she would hear strange grunts and cries accompanying screams that couldn't have been just someone taking a beating.

Then, one day, the grunts had been in the middle of the day. It was a little odd and the evening became even more strange. Keara and the others at that place had been rescued by a whore who wasn't a whore and who was obviously in love with one of the boys who was staying there. The lady had been so kind and nice to everyone and then she had told them a secret - that magic existed! And she had promised Keara and Keara alone that she would come one day during the summer and take her away to teach her things.

It was now a week in to August and the lady still hadn't come. Keara had faith that she would come, eventually, but with each day that passed her faith was tested a little more. So, since it was raining and she had nothing better to do Keara sat in her room and waited; alternatively gazing out into the garden, trying to read and drawing pictures of whatever took her fancy. Keara liked drawing dragons - she hoped they existed too.

Nothing happened that day, or the next either, but the day after that there was a sharp rap on the door and all the orphanage children poured onto the stairs to discretely look between the banisters at who their guest could be. Keara knew, though, she knew that it was going to be the lady who she had talked to before - the one with the honey-red hair and freckles and a grin that could be comforting and welcoming some times and terrifying and sarcastic at other times. She was going to be standing at the door and, when she saw Keara - which she would - she would smile that comforting smile and open her arms and wrap her up in a hug that Keara so dearly longed for. Then she'd whisk her away into a world of magic and intrigue where there were dragons and unicorns and stories like _The Sword in the Stone_ really happened. And Keara would be special. Something she had never been before.

Sure enough, when the door opened, there stood the magical lady. But, this time, there was something different about her. When Keara looked at her normally she looked like the happy, smiling, slightly plump matronly woman who she had disguised herself as the last time they had met. Keara tried to remember what she had called that magic; a glory or something? The eleven year old tilted her head to the side and squinted to see whether she'd be able to see without the spell. It took a moment, but when she saw what the lady looked like now she immediately wished she hadn't.

The red-gold hair was tangled and greasy, chopped into irregular lengths. Her clothes were clean, but torn in several different places and what Keara could see of her skin - her face and forearms and such - was covered in large, ugly-looking bruises. The worst change, though, were her eyes. The sparkling brown that Keara remembered, filled with depth and compassion now seemed tired and flat. Shuddering Keara straightened her neck and widened her eyes. She didn't want to look at the wreck that this girl had become.

Something struck her, then. In her mind this person had always been the 'magic _lady_', but now, suddenly, she had become just another girl - a child trying to seek assurance from a cruel, merciless world that just didn't want to know.

That was when Keara made up her mind. She stood up at her place on the stairs and, ignoring Mrs Deveham's scolding, she walked up to the girl and wrapped her arms around her middle in a tight hug that showed the other just how much, exactly, she meant to Keara. The girl's arms swung round Keara and hugged her back, just as tightly, sending a different message - this time one of thanks.

'What happened to you?' Keara asked.

The girl laughed lightly, and it really did sound honest and true. 'I was held up by a few emergencies that simply couldn't be avoided, I'm afraid,' she said, more to Keara than to Mrs Devenham who had also wanted to know.

'You'll tell me more later?'

'Maybe, Keara-' she remembered Keara's name! '-but we'll have to see. First, let's get your adoption sorted, shall we?'

Following this was an entire hour and a half of tedious sitting around, checking things, reading things and signing things until, finally, they could leave.

Keara had been sent up to her room earlier to gather her things so, when the girl said that they could leave she took her hand and bounced out of the door excitedly, waving an ecstatic goodbye to Mrs Devenham and all of her momentary friends. Then she was out in the wide world, with someone who loved her right beside her, protecting and accompanying her. They had walked about half a mile when the girl stopped and they sat down at a park bench.

'Keara Craigson,' she said with a grin. 'How does it feel to be my little sister?'

'Sister?' Keara frowned. She had thought that this girl was to be her adoptive mum - not her sister and she told her so.

The girl laughed again. 'Love, I've only just turned eighteen. I know that with this glamour on I may not look it, but I'm only seven years older than you.'

'Oh,' Keara said.

'Don't worry about all that paperwork, Mrs Devenham won't notice that it's been changed to say sister for a good five, maybe six years yet. Now, I'm sure you've got lots of questions, where do you want to start?'

Keara thought about that for a moment before asking, blush tinting her cheeks, 'what's your real name?'

The girl sighed at this and closed her eyes - Keara half regretted asking the question, but that wasn't enough to make her wish she hadn't. 'The name I was given at birth was Ginevra Molly Weasley. The name I go by in this time is Ginevra Molly Craigson. My real name is just Ginny or Nygin.'

Keara said, at this point, the only thing she possibly could under the circumstances; 'huh?'

Ginevra or Ginny or Nygin sighed and rubbed the thumb and forefinger of one hand against her eyes. 'Just call me Ginny. Look, I want to be able to tell you everything, but to do so we need to find a safe place to talk.'

'Why isn't here a safe place?'

'Walls have ears,' Ginny replied. When Keara started looking in curiosity at the wall a short way behind them she added hastily, 'figuratively speaking, anyway.' Keara didn't quite catch the mumbled, 'well, most of the time,' that Ginny added to the end.

The two girls just sat for a moment before Ginny stood up and grabbed Keara's hand.

'Earlier today I bought a house - not a very large or flashy one, I'm afraid, but there's only so much I can do in a short space of time. It's going to be our home for the next three weeks before we both head off to school. Now, this is going to be a little weird.'

Then, with no more of a warning than that, Keara felt, for he second time in her life, the strange sensation of Apparation washing over her like an unwelcome downpour of rain. They arrived in the garden of a very small-looking house. They walked forward until Keara was brought up short by some kind of force field that wouldn't let her through. Ginny didn't say anything, only retrieved a wooden stick from her clothes and waved it a few times in Keara's direction. Then they walked forward again, the wards this time letting Keara through.

'From now on you'll never get any resistance from the house when you try and enter. The only reason I've set up the wards so strongly is because of… well, I'll get to that later. Now, would you like to see your room?' Ginny asked. Keara hesitated only a moment before nodding. She was lead through the front door into a small hallway with three doors leading out of it. Ginny opened one of them to reveal a compact little kitchen, the next opened into the bathroom and the last into a tiny, dining room with little space for more than the table and two chairs that resided there. Three of its walls were stacked high with books whilst the last wall had a staircase and fire place. The two girls walked up the stairs into a living space that was, once again, filled with books. But, instead of table and chairs there were two low sofas that were so fluffed up and comfy-looking Keara was sure that if she sat down she'd disappear. There was another fire place and an armchair that Ginny told her cheerfully if she sat in it she'd be cleaning the toilet for a year.

Keara laughed at that, but something told her that Ginny wasn't entirely joking. Keara shrugged. Everyone had to get possessive over something.

Leading away from the living space were two doors, Ginny motioned that she should open one of the, so Keara stepped forward and tried the doorknob. It resisted a little at first, and her palm seemed to burn where she was touching it, but the sensation was over and the door opened a moment later, Ginny sparing only a knowing smile before Keara's attention was grabbed by the room.

Keara hated to admit it, especially to her new older sister, but she had expected more. The room was completely bare; the walls were plain white, the floor was even but splinter-filled floorboards and there was no furniture in there whatsoever.

'It's um... really nice?' Keara tried to reassure Ginny.

Ginny laughed at that. 'Well you can keep it as it is, if you like, but I had thought that you'd want to do something with it.'

'How do you mean?'

'Well I have some matchsticks ready to be transfigured into whatever you want to have in here and there's a catalogue of colour schemes and current styles in the living room if you want to check that out. So...' Ginny trailed off as Keara's face lit up. Moments later she found herself an armful of squealing eleven year old.

'Thank you, thank you, thank you!' Keara said, clutching Ginny tightly.

'Ok, ok, sis, now let me go so we can start decorating, yeah?'

Keara blushed brightly at being called 'sis' and Ginny couldn't help but lean forward and tell her that she had always wanted a _younger sister_ instead of the hoards of older brothers she had instead been subjected to. Keara's laughter quickly chased away the fleeting shadow that passed in the back of Ginny's eyes as she spoke of her brothers.

It took quite a while for the girls to finish off Keara's room. The eleven year old had never been offered so much choice before – nothing that she could so completely design and claim as her own. The sixteen year old was basking in the newly formed camaraderie reserved only for siblings. It was strange that they had become sisters so quickly but both girls welcomed it; in their own, separate ways they had yearned for this and now they had it. Life was not for the wasting.

Later, once their rooms were done and they were both fully settled the two girls sat down before a crackling fire, mugs of slightly warmed butterbeer clutched in their hands. Keara, having never tasted the delicious concoction before, took a moment to savour the taste - and the new feeling of family - before turning to gaze at her new sister expectantly.

Ginny took another sip of her drink and curled legs up over the arm of 'her' armchair into the position that she had always favoured. She stared moodily into the golden depths for a moment before starting with a question of her own; 'will you promise me that you will tell no one of this?'

Keara nodded excitedly. She had never had a secret of her own to keep and to be given someone else's really was an honour. 'My word as your sister,' she whispered.

Ginny smiled softly, but did not raise her gaze. Then she took a deep breath and started at the very beginning. Never before had a tale such as this been told and the one and only person who would ever be her audience absorbed every word eagerly and acceptingly. From Voldemort's uprise to Lily Evans and James Potter's romance. From Harry to Tom. From the future back to the past. Ginny told Keara everything. It was only when they got to Ginny's latest meeting with her future self that the story took its' toll.

'Dumbledore was - sorry, _is_ - the most infuriating wizard to ever grace this earth, I swear,' Ginny told Keara ferociously. 'He asks me what I am and I finally figure it out and then the spell doesn't work!'

Keara frowned; she quite liked this Dumbledore character - there must be something Ginny was missing. 'But… in these bottomless chasm thingies do you fall?'

'Love, when there isn't ground beneath your feet, you fall.'

'Yeah, but if it was magic then there _would _have been earth beneath your feet, you just wouldn't be able to feel it. I think that these chasm thingies aren't so much a… a… change of the world… more a kind of way of making you _think_ that they are.'

Ginny concentrated on this for a while before she managed to get Keara's point. 'So, uh, what you reckon is that I was actually just standing there and the magic was making me _think_ I was falling.'

Keara nodded. 'Yeah, and that's why Dumbledore's funny magic didn't work.'

'You know,' Ginny said, musingly, with new respect in her eyes for the eleven year old, 'I think you may have a point there.'

'But, um, how did you escape?' Keara prompted moments later after basking in that pride for the shortest of times.

'I used the time turner. I remembered later, of course, that the Potions Master had warned me against turning it any more than once, but by that time it was too late and the deed was done. You have to forgive me for that - falling through that chasm (or the illusion of falling) reminded me strongly of the time I spent in those dungeons with Harry before his death and I was having a bit of a panic attack.

'Anyway, I turned the darn thing and that's when it happened,' here Ginny paused for a moment. 'I did travel forwards in time, but I ended up landing… well… I landed in the middle of the sixth year Slytherin girls' dormitory room at some point in the early hours of yesterday morning.'

Keara choked on thin air, suddenly glad that the mugs of butterbeer had been finished hours earlier.

'I naturally contacted Dumbledore right away and when I explained _some_ of the situation to him he helped me find a house suitable. This house. I got as much sleep in as I could then went straight to Mrs Devenham's to pick you up after making the house a little more liveable.' Ginny quickly finished off her story.

'Wait… yesterday morning?'

Ginny glanced significantly up at the clock that now declared the time to be well past midnight.

'Technicalities aside, are you trying to tell me that a thing designed to work at only fifty-five years ago only shunted you forwards less than two months?' Keara's mind was boggling. Magic was a little hard to believe in, but it still seemed to have some kind of pattern - some sort of _sense_ to it. That is, until they got to the time turner bit. Keara could accept time travel. She could understand Ginny's explanations of _Inadfectatus Magicus_. She could even vaguely see why this future Ginny would be trying to nurture Tom Riddle into becoming Voldemort. But what she didn't get was the change in time.

'My head hurts,' Keara moaned after a moment. 'You and your stupid time travelling doppelgangers!' It was meant in jest and Ginny picked that up.

'Come on, bed,' she prompted.

Tiredly the two girls sidled to the doors of their respective bedroom.

'Gin?' Keara asked, her hand hovering over the door handle.

'Yes?'

'What about Tom? What happened to him?'

Ginny bowed her head and when she met Keara face on again her eyes were shining with unshed tears. 'Myrtle died. Hagrid was expelled.'

'And the diary?'

'Written, but I doubt it has been enchanted yet.'

Keara nodded at that as if it all made complete and total sense. She wished it did. Then both girls disappeared into their rooms and prepared for bed, carefully avoiding one another going to the bathroom.

Ginny lay a long time awake in bed that night, wondering. Wondering if Tom had split a bit of his soul off. Wondering if she should have told Keara about Horcruxes. Wondering if there was a way to end this madness. Wondering it Tom would even recognise her now.

It had been a very long, tiring two days and when Ginny finally closed her eyes her dreams were haunted by snakes and Tom and the strange green soul lights.

* * *

Ginny woke early the next morning and was up and changed into her everyday clothes surprisingly swiftly, despite the stronger fire whiskey she had spiked her - and only her - butterbeer with the previous night. For what should have been a hangover she felt instead light headed and her vision had a strange clarity to it. Ginny didn't feel wary by the changes, merely grateful. There was a lot that had to be done that day.

As she had told Keara the previous day when she had turned the time turner she had only been pushed forward six weeks. This was above and beyond infuriating. If she _had_ managed to go forward fifty five years like she was supposed to then she would have been able to return to the same point in time. Instead Ginny hadn't dared turning the time turner back as it would plummet her back in time way beyond when she wanted to be there. So she had missed the last few weeks of school.

It was not those weeks of school she had missed that worried Ginny - she had already passed the summer exams of her sixth year, even if it wasn't _that_ sixth year. No, what worried her was what might have happened to Tom Riddle in the meantime. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Tom would have written his diary. He had attacked another four students, the fourth of which had been Myrtle and had died. Hagrid, poor, naïve Hagrid, had been blamed and expelled.

Secretly Ginny hoped that killing Myrtle would have shocked Tom and changed his mind and that he would stop now - but she knew these to be false hopes. After all, Tom's mind was not his own to control anymore and the older version of herself… Ginny shuddered. What had happened that she might have forsaken all that was good and right? What would have made Ginny ever dishonour Harry's memory? Because, no matter who she was or in what timeline Ginny loved Harry Potter - so what had happened?

And what was going to happen next?

Mind swirling with questions impossible to answer Ginny moved around the kitchen making herself a cup of tea and penning a quick not to Keara so that her new sister would not be startled by her lack of company.

_Off to find Tom. Should be back by lunch. If not help yourself to whatever you want, there's not much though. If you get desperate there are a couple of basic cook books and the staple ingredients. There's money in the pig shaped pot if you want to go out and buy anything._

_Feel free to explore the house and town – the keys are with the money. Try and be back by six at the latest, please._

_Love, Ginny_

_xxx_

Then she put a stasis spell on the hot porridge she had made and left the house through the backdoor. She looked around the tiny garden for only a moment before Disapparating.

The previous day Ginny had been anxious to get things sorted as quickly as possible and had therefore only asked Dumbledore a few, cursory questions before rushing off. The professor had helped her to find the cottage and told her a little of what he knew about the fiasco with Aragog, Hagrid and the ever-elusive Tom Riddle. So, today, Ginny was back to get the more in-depth explanation before going off in search of Tom. She had only one idea as to where Tom had gone and she doubted that, after everything, he would have returned the orphanage.

Apparating to the gates of Hogwarts grounds Ginny walked swiftly up the road to the castle, greeted at the main doors by the transfiguration teacher.

'Professor Dumbledore.' Ginny nodded.

'Miss Craigson, come in,' he invited. 'I'm afraid that I have very little to tell you,' he swiftly apologised as the two walked down the corridors to his office.

Ginny sighed and rubbed her eyes with the balls of her hands. 'Tell me what you do know.'

'Despite the evidence stacked against him Rubeus Hagrid is not to blame-'

'I know this,' Ginny bit in.

Dumbledore tsked but otherwise continued as if she hadn't interrupted, 'he's accepted to stay on as Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts - under Mr Tollert, of course - but hasn't said an awful lot except 'it wasn't me'. The third floor girl's bathroom is now housing a new ghost of that poor, poor girl who died. I've tried telling Headmaster Dippet that no spider of any sort - magical or otherwise - could inflict that kind of instantaneous death or petrifaction without inserting some kind of venom into the blood stream.'

'The victims were clean?' Ginny said in surprise. She knew, of course, that the Basilisk never actually touched to kill it's victims (though it could if it needed or wanted to) but she had no idea how the magic worked.

'It's impossible to say for certain at this stage, but it is very likely… jelly bean?'

Ginny absently refused Dumbledore's request, only noting in the back of her mind with mild humour that the man seemed to have acquired his passion for muggle sweets at an earlier age than she thought. 'How do you mean 'impossible at this stage'?'

'The, ah, victims are still petrified.'

This was news to Ginny. 'I thought the potion to revive them was supposed to be ready shortly after the exams?'

'Someone destroyed two of the greenhouses and the crop was spoilt,' Dumbledore said solemnly.

Ginny sat back in her chair and chewed or her tongue a moment. 'How're Myrtle and her parents?'

'Her parents refuse to see her ghost - this is not entirely unusual - and Myrtle is… struggling. She was never totally at home here and why she stayed I can't say.'

Ginny nodded again. Last question; 'do you know where Tom is now?'

Dumbledore, who was known for being astute had probably come to conclusions about this whole case that were frighteningly close to the truth, could only shake his head remorsefully.

'Ah well. Thank you for your help, Professor,' Ginny thanked him and stood to leave.

'Not as much help as I think you had hoped?'

'No sir,' Ginny said, offering him a half grin. 'But no less than expected.'

'Is there anything else I can do to help?'

Ginny paused half a moment before shaking her head. 'Not that I know of. If I come up with something I'll let you know.'

Ginny had already stepped out of the door before Dumbledore asked, suddenly, 'do you know what you are now, Ginny?'

'Nothing but human, sir,' Ginny replied with a grin.

Dumbledore didn't respond in any visible way, except, perhaps, the twinkling in his eyes growing a little brighter.

Ginny shook her head and walked quickly back out of Hogwarts and the grounds. Then she closed her eyes and prayed that she was wrong as she Apparated back to the too-familiar alleyway just around the corner from Tom's orphanage.

Upon arrival Ginny kept her eyes shut and did something she wished that she could have done last time she came here. She thrust her magic out to leave a faint trace on everything and she _saw_ things. She saw the narrow corridor and the room she had been in before and then she explored outwards. There were about ten rooms that were empty with nothing but a tap and a curious aura to them that Ginny couldn't explain. There were three rooms that were all attached that seemed to be living quarters for the… manager of the establishment. And then, _there_, in another 'tapped' room there were two humans.

Ginny recognised who they were and what was happening immediately. Her eyes sprang open and she fell to her knees, retching. She could handle the idea of rape; much as it disgusted her it didn't cause her to retch at the very thought. She could even handle with the after effects - the rape victim. The night after her first rescue of Tom and the two weeks following testified for that.

But to actually see it happening, even if not in the traditional sense of seeing, was beyond horrible. Beyond abnormal. There was no word that could adequately describe the experience. Even though she dared not even blink for a long moment, in case she saw it again, Ginny's mind was still full of the horrific images. There was blood and semen everywhere and Tom's beautiful face was twisted into a painful mask of pain, trepidation and - astonishingly - resignation.

Only once before had Ginny seen such an expression of pure, negative emotion on someone's face. It seemed that the fates enjoyed torturing the young men that she loved. Harry's face surfaced in her mind's eye, just before he was dragged off to his execution. Two, beautiful people and both tortured by people so inhumane. Ginny wondered, perhaps, if she'd loved them less would they have hurt less?

Her throat was dry and scratchy, but it was nothing compared to the feeling that was growing in her stomach. Ginny had been angry before, but never this angry. It was white hot and burning her from the inside out. It was a glorious torture of her very own. All that ferocious anger stored up inside her, bubbling, spitting, growing and growing until Ginny was sure that if she had a mirror she would be glowing with her anger. This time there was no time or reason for excuses and flimsy explanations.

This time there was only unbounded anger.

Ginny Apparated to right outside the room and blasted the door right off it's hinges without even reaching for her wand. In fact her wand was the furthest thing from her clenched fists right now. There was a static energy rolling off her that made her clothes and hair flutter around her like she was in the eye of a hurricane and she didn't even notice. She didn't have to move to fling the meaty body of the rapist away from her Tom. She heard the loud snap of his shoulder colliding with the wall and his howl of pain but it did not register.

He was pleading with her now. At each, pitiful, lying word that escaped his lips Ginny's expression darkened and so did the light in the room. The light was sucked from everything until Ginny, fury written on her features, was the only thing that could be seen. Glowing like a beacon and her feet barely touched the floor and wisps of shadows and darkness folding and swirling around her she truly was, in that moment alone, the avenging angel.

She didn't say anything and she didn't move, but she cast the Cruciatus Curse nonetheless.

He fell, howling, to the floor. He said nothing more. Ginny watched in emotionless silence as the animal screams that flew from his lips slowly stopped. Ginny watched in emotionless silence as the man kneeling before her lost his mind, his sanity disintegrating bit, by bit until there was nothing of him left there. And still she did not leave off.

Ginny's feet only returned to the floor and the light only returned to the room when the man at her feet forgot what it was to breath.

'And that's what it is to kill,' a cracked voice spoke up.

Ginny turned her gaze upon Tom Riddle. He had attempted to wrap what little clothing he had still around him, but it was nothing more than shreds and it did nothing to warm or protect him. He was still dripping in blood, but the pool around him that had been rapidly increasing when Ginny had arrived had now stopped growing. That was something at least.

'That is not what it is to kill, Tom,' Ginny said wearily, suddenly tired. 'That it me expressing my feelings.'

'He's dead,' Tom said starkly.

Ginny just stared expressionlessly into Tom's eyes. 'I know.'

Tom stared back, the thousands of questions he wanted to ask but did not know how to phrase staring up at her with him.

'Whether you are being controlled by an evil version of myself or simply being sadistic, I love you Tom Riddle. That man was _raping_ you. Hurting and breaking you,' Ginny explained calmly, as if it was the more obvious thing in the world.

'I broke long ago,' he replied.

Ginny's laugh, when it came, was humourless and brittle. 'I won't break for another fifty-odd years' time, but you know the pain feels as real now as it will do then.'

'Your life is twisted.'

'_I_ am twisted,' Ginny corrected.

Tom sighed and lowered his head in to his hands. 'I am sitting naked and abused on the floor after being raped and then watching my rapist being tortured into forgetting how to bloody _breath_ by some broken kid with Angel of Death orientations who I am, for some, inexplicable reason, still in love with.' When Tom looked up his eyes, for the first time, were filled with tears. 'You left me Ginny. How… how could you leave me… with her? With _you_?'

The tears in his eyes suddenly sprung up in hers as well. 'I… I didn't… I couldn't… the darkness, Tom!' a sob broke out of Ginny's lips, stopping her from continuing for a moment. 'There was… was nothing, nothing at all. Just… just black. And it felt… felt hopeless. Empty. I felt so empty. And hopeless. I… I don't like the dark, Tom. Don't like… don't like _that _dark.'

Then suddenly they were clutching at one another, curled up on the bloodied floor and hugging and crying with a desperation that showed how they truly felt. Two lost, oppressed souls. How long they stayed there Ginny didn't know but the tears stopped and, eventually, Tom fell asleep with his arms wrapped around her and her arms wrapped around him. Carefully - so carefully! - Ginny stood, lifting Tom with her. He was withered and thin, clearly having lost a lot of weight, despite the short time he had been there.

Ginny ignored the body of the dead man and Disapparated with Tom back to the back garden of her new cottage. She somehow managed to mute the crack of Apparition so that Tom wasn't jostled and made her way gracefully and quickly inside the cottage, moving swiftly up the steps of the narrow staircase and opening her two-way bedroom door.

It had taken a while to master that particular tricky little charm, but Ginny had done it. The door always lead into the same space, but a different room. Open it one way and you would find yourself in Ginny's room. Open it the other and you would be in Tom's. This time Ginny opened it to Tom's, manoeuvring him gently on to the bed before summoning the same bruise salve to her that she had used before.

Quickly banishing the scraps of material that did not earn the name of clothes Ginny worked efficiently and smoothly on Tom's bruises, washing him with a sponge as she went along. He woke at some point during the healing process, but neither of them said a word until Ginny was finished, breaking the silence with an apt, 'I'm done now.'

Tom sat slowly, gingerly moving and stretching his muscles to see how they felt. After a moment he was sat up straight on the bed, his back against the wall.

'Hungry?' Ginny asked after a moment.

'Yeah. You don't happen to have any clothes that are masculine enough for me to borrow, do you?' Tom asked, remembering the jeans of hers that had shocked him before.

Normally Ginny would have laughed, but she was feeling too tense at the moment. Despite torturing and killing she still had a lot of anger still bubbling inside her. Nothing she couldn't handle, of course, but it meant she didn't feel quite as bright and bubbly as she used to. Ginny tossed a couple of penny coins up into the air and turned away, out of the door. She didn't wait to see the pennies transfigure into neatly folded clothes, lying on the end of the bed for Tom. She didn't wait to see Tom's face. Wandless and wordless magic when you are furious is one thing. Doing it when your emotions were in more control was an entirely different matter.

Ginny walked into the kitchen to find Keara sitting in one of the chairs, tilted right back on just two legs her ankles crossing as they rested on the table, a thick book in her hands and a look of intense concentration on her face. Her sister glanced up briefly and smiled a bright, toothy smile before turning back to her book. Ginny glanced at her watch and realised, with no little amusement, that it was only just midday.

'What do you want for lunch?' Ginny asked.

'Anything that doesn't have mushrooms,' Keara replied, utterly serious.

'OK,' Ginny said and proceeded to make the sets of BLT sandwiches. She placed the plate in front of Keara before telling her, 'there's orange and apple juice in the fridge and lemonade in one of the cupboards. I'll be making tea in a while, but you can help yourself to some before, if you like.'

'Thanks,' Keara said, grinning up at Ginny again. 'Hey, d'you find Tom?'

Ginny hesitated only for the shortest of times before telling her the truth, 'yeah. But… he's not in very good shape. He had gone back to the orphanage.'

Keara dropped down on to four legs of the chair. 'You're kidding me,' she squeaked, instantly realising the significance of Ginny's remark.

'I wish. Look, just for now I think it would be best if you stayed out of his way as much as possible.'

'Not a problem.' Keara paused before adding, 'tell him I love him.'

Ginny glanced up sharply.

'You're my sister now, right?' Keara explained, talking on without waiting for a response from Ginny, 'well you and he could only be more of an item if you were the same person, so he's my brother. And family love one another unconditionally.'

'He won't love you,' Ginny cautioned.

Keara smiled a little weakly. 'After all he's been through I don't expect him to. But tell him I love him anyway.'

Ginny smiled brightly at the pure goodness in her new sister and swept the younger girl up into a tight hug. 'you are an amazing person, Keara.'

Keara smirked. 'I know.'

Suddenly finding herself able to laugh, Ginny swatted her lightly on the back of the head and, balancing two plates and two cups on her arms and hands made her careful way up the stairs, trying not to drop anything and ignoring Keara's exasperated cry that there was such a thing as magic, you know!

Ginny opened the door to Tom's room without pausing to knock. He had his traousers and pants on and was buttoning up his shirt. Ginny smirked at him.

'You look good in those,' she complimented him, setting the food and drink on the small wooden desk.

'As my - what? Girlfriend? - I think you're supposed to say I looked better without them on,' Tom informed her archly.

Ginny laughed again, though something was puzzling her. 'Oh, once I'd gotten rid of the blood and wounds and what-not - definitely. But you look good in those too.'

Tom managed a tiny, brief little smile before it slipped away and he took to the food like a starving man. It took Ginny a moment to remember he _was_ a starving man.

'Oh and Keara sends her love,' Ginny said, remembering her promise and wondering what Tom would say.

He glanced up from his almost finished sandwich and frowned. 'Keara?' he questioned.

'The orphan. I adopted her as my sister,' Ginny explained, pushing her sandwich towards Tom as well.

'Your sister? Hah! I bet the matron Mrs Whoever loved that.'

'Oh, she doesn't know,' Ginny said blithely, flopping down on the bed next to Tom and crossing her legs. 'Charmed it to show 'mother' or whatever on the adoption forms until I left, by which time the forms were filed in and no one will have the will to look at them for five years.'

Tom just nodded, starting on her sandwich now.

Ginny sighed and leant back against the bed head board, her eyes fluttering shut and allowing herself to bask in the power that Tom was giving off. She'd only been away from him for two days and she had already missed that. And him. Ginny allowed a tiny smile to sneak across her features. She loved Tom so much and here he was, back in her house. Even if he was a little more broken that he had been before.

At that thought the diary sprung immediately to the forfront of Ginny's mind and she found herself anxiously wondering whether he had… no. It was too horrible to think of. But he'd killed Myrtle. Even if it was indirect, he had still killed. Could you split your soul over that or not? Ginny didn't want to know. She knew, however, that she must.

'Tom. About Myrtle…'

Tom froze. 'You know,' he whispered.

Ginny sighed. 'Only that she died and that the boy blamed for it - Hagrid - was set up. The Basilisk killed her, didn't it?' She asked a question, but it really was more a statement of fact.

So, 'yes,' Tom answered simply.

'I need to know… Tom, your diary. The diary that you started writing at the end of the Easter holidays… did you…' Ginny stuttered and bit her lip. Damn it was hard. But, then, how exactly was one supposed to ask their boyfriend if he had split his soul?

'What?'

'Horcruxes, Tom. I know that you've been asking Slughorn about them.'

Tom shook his head a little ruefully. 'No, damn man wouldn't tell me anything about them. Wait… what do you know about them?'

Now Ginny was just confused. Surely her future self who was controlling Tom would have told hi everything she - they - knew about Horcruxes?

'I… well, they make you drop dead ugly, for one thing,' Ginny tried to joke, practically feeling it fall flat.

'Gin, seriously.'

'Tom, seriously. Horcruxes aren't just some magical trinket that you can make and move on from. They are pieces of your soul. It's like hacking off an arm or a leg… well, not quite. You can live through it, but you loose an important part of yourself in the process. I love you, Tom, and I refuse to stand by and just watch as you do that to yourself. Not knowing what you become when you do,' Ginny told him fiercely.

Tom hesitated only a moment before turning on the bed so hat he was facing her, also sat cross legged. He lifted a hand and cupped her face gently, acting as though if he moved to fast he might crush her. Acting as though she were the most precious thing in his world right now.

'Tell me,' he whispered. 'Tell me about who I become if I do that to myself.'

A sudden emotion flashed through Ginny's eyes and it took Tom a moment to realise what it was - he had never seen an emotion quite like it in her eyes. 'Tom… Tom I'm scared. I don't want to tell you. I hated you back then. Loathed you with more feeling than you can imagine. In the future… you aren't you anymore.'

'If… I did followed that route, if I did become the Lord Voldemort that you hate so much… would you hate me again?' he asked.

In these moments they were like the teenagers they never were. Standing on the brink of something huge and amazing they didn't know quite what to do. Falter just for a moment and they would fall different ways… loose one another forever. Tom looked at Ginny so much like a young boy she wished that she could wrap her arms around him and carry him away, away, away. Somewhere safe. And she… Ginny stared back very much the lost little girl, floundering desperately for the right thing to say - the right thing to do.

'I can't,' Ginny whispered back. 'I can't hate you now.' She grinned a little, weakly. 'Maybe I'm a fool - to feel this way, to say this - who knows? But if you walked that road I would walk with you step for step. I'm afraid, Tom, that now that you have me you will never be rid of me.'

Tom sobbed then. Proper sobs that wracked through his body and shook him to his core. He had dealt with many things - with pain, with uncertainty and with the knowledge that he was hated, but what really brought him to his knees was the knowledge that he was loved.

And Ginny leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders; stroking his back, his arms, his cheeks, his hair, his legs. They rocked ever so slightly until Tom's sobs died down and Ginny leant back, leaving only a feathering kiss on his forehead.

'Why do you love me so much?' Tom asked helplessly, his voice cracking slightly over the word 'love'. 'I don't deserve it. I'll never deserve it.'

Ginny offered a tiny smile. 'I love you Tom. I love the way your eyes switch from grey to blue to grey when you're feeling different emotions. I love your smirk. I love your smile. I love your wit. I love the way you can control a room. I love your magic. I love how you can brush big things off and cling to the little details. I love the fact that you can speak Parseltongue. I love how sarcastic you can be. I love the way you talk when you get excited about things. I love the things you get excited about. I love so many things about you it's impossible to tell you all of them and I love that fact. I am, Tom, hopelessly, helplessly, completely and undoubtedly head over heels, irreversibly in love with you. I don't know why. I just am.'

Tom didn't sob this time, but the tears ran freely down his face as he uttered, again, 'why?'

Ginny smiled properly this time and leant forward, kissing away his tears and savouring their taste on her tongue. 'I love you Tom,' she said again. 'I have no idea why, but that's OK. Because being in love with you is a wonderful experience… if a little complicated.'

Tom smiled a quavering smile for a moment as he replied, 'I love you, too.'

Then he leant towards her and they kissed softly, briefly, beautifully. The kiss tasted of tears and hope and it was delicious. Tom's hand came up to Ginny's neck and tangled itself in her hair. They both kneeled up and nudged forward until their bodies were flush against each other, Tom's other hand clutching Ginny to him. Ginny's arms were looser around him, but no less protective or possessive.

Between kisses they told each other over and over and over that they loved them, loved them with all their heart.

They fell asleep before too long, wrapped up in one another's arms, limbs tangled and foreheads pressed together. Tom and Ginny, sleeping and sharing the same breath.

* * *

Ginny was woken later by a terrified scream. It took no longer than a second for her to gather her bearings - she was still lying atop the covers of Tom's bed in a now darkened room. And, most noticeably Tom was not there.

The scream had most definitely been feminine and Ginny was up and out of the room faster than lightning. Keara! In the short time it took Ginny to dart down the stairs and wrench open the bathroom door she had come up with thousands of scenarios… had the Riddle part of Tom taken over again? Was he hurting Keara - raping her like he had been raped? He had hurt before - killed before. What was to stop him from doing it again. Ginny's heart stuttered and she prayed to any Gods that might be up there that Ginny had just walked in on Tom in the shower or something equally benign, even as her heart told her it was something else.

What her eyes saw, however, when she did open the door, was something else entirely. Keara was not in any apparent physical pain, but it was clear from her eyes that as she saw what Ginny saw her heart was breaking. Keara knew nothing of Tom except what Ginny had told her, but she had not been lying when she said she loved him. And now he was breaking her heart, and now Ginny's too.

The mirror was smashed and the floor was stained a horribly familiar crimson. Tom was lying, curled up tightly with several shards of glass clutched or embedded in his hands. He had stripped down to his boxers and it was clear from the marks in his back that he had been attempting to recreate the cuts he had acquired earlier. His arms were also covered with series of small cuts that were in various stages of clotting.

When he looked up at them his eyes were so empty and desolate Keara fell to her knees, clutching her face to hide the vision before her, fat, crystal tears sliding down her cheeks and splatting onto the floor with hollow mourning. Ginny stood just looking at him, such pain and love in her eyes that he found he had to look away. He had let her down. It would be the last time.

Tom brought the glass blades down to his wrist and started sawing frantically, hoping that it would be over soon and he wouldn't have to deal with those eyes. With that burning emotion.

The Ginny was there, crouched by his side with an iron grip on his hands, pulling them away from himself and not caring that the glass was now cutting her fingers as well. He struggled a little, half heartedly before his hands let go and the glass that wasn't stuck in his skin dropped with a ringing clatter to the floor.

'What's wrong with me, Ginny?' he croaked. 'Why am I so broken? Why do I want to hurt you? Why do I want to hurt people who I haven't even met? What's wrong with me? What am I?'

He was crying again, now, tear tracks cutting lines through the crimson streaks smeared across his face. And Ginny was crying with him. He looked up at her and moved to cup her face, but stopped before touching her. Ginny was not the most pretty of people, but, to him, she was the most beautiful, precious thing in the world. He didn't dare touch that.

'Why do I want to hurt what I love the most in the world? The _only_ thing I love?' he asked, searching for an answer even as he knew there was none.

Ginny wanted to hold him and hug him tightly again, but he was so hurt she didn't want to hurt him anymore. She placed a hand behind his head and brought it forward so that their foreheads were touching - so that they were sharing the same air again.

'Help me, Ginny,' he pleaded. 'Help me. Please.'

And Ginny cried because she didn't know how.

* * *

_A/N: Ooh. Angst. Ooh. Attempted suicide. Ooh. Rape. Goddammit I told you there would be adult themes in this. I should probably change the rating to M, but I won't unless you guys turn around and say I should. Just a little heads up… if I do write a sequel to this? Yeah it is sooo gonna be rated M. And it won't be for sex scenes. I mean, damn, who knew I could write angst? Not me. I like happy endings. Or at the very least endings that, if continued, could be happy._

_Which I suppose gives you some indication how this will end. Well - hah! - actually no. But we have two more chapters after this to go. And maybe an epilogue. Maybe._

_Apologies, as always, for typos/grammar mistakes etc, etc. Oh, and for taking so long to get this chapter up. So sorry about that. Next chapter will be sooner, I promise. Eee! only two more chapters to gooooo! Plus an epilgoue. Maybe..._

_Love you all!_

_Cal_

_xxx_

_Oh and PS, leave me a review…?_


	9. Seeking Faith

_See the look on my face  
__From staying too long in one place  
But every time I try to leave  
I find I keep on stalling  
Feel like a big old stone  
Standing by a strength of my own  
But every time the morning breaks  
I know I'm closer to falling_

_I'm all out of love, all out of faith  
I would give everything just for a taste  
Everything's here, all out of place  
Losing my memory, saving my face  
Saving my face, saving my face  
Saving my face._

_Listening to what you say  
Even though I look the other way  
You could never understand the feeling  
Of what I'm leaving_

_I'm all out of love, all out of faith  
I would give everything just for a taste  
Everything's here, all out of place  
Losing my memory, saving my face_

_Saving my face..._

_**Disclaimer: Harry Potter ™ belongs to JKR and WB. Song Lyrics (Saving My Face) ©KT Tunstall**_

**Warning: More torture and murder and other nasty stuff. I am WARNING YOU NOW this is not a nice chapter. For those of you who want to know what's in the chapter before deciding to read the full version or not note my page and I will give you a chapter synopsis.**

_**

* * *

**_

9: Seeking Faith

He didn't understand her, and if there was one thing Tom Riddle hated it was not understanding.

He had given Ginny nothing, unless you count his heart, which he didn't. After years of abuse there wasn't much of it left. Not enough to count, anyway.

And still Ginny gave and gave and gave and anyone could tell, just by looking at her, that it was destroying her. Because he could give her nothing in return. Nothing except the tiny smiles and kisses and even they were mostly gone now.

He didn't understand anything!

Everyone should hate him. He'd killed and he'd enjoyed it. Yet here were two girls, living with him, giving him everything he needed and loving him. Even the little brat of a girl who was still mooning over the Hogwarts letter she had only just received.

Merlin knew what the kid saw in him, but he'd become 'bro' just as Ginny was 'sis'. In a strange, warped way he had become part of her family.

And he didn't understand.

Everyday Ginny would come into the bathroom just in time to stop him from cutting himself, but after he'd finished shaving. He didn't know how she knew when to come in, but there was no prickle of magic. She just knew. Then she'd kiss him as if everything was OK and kick him out so she could wash or shower. She'd sweep into Keara's room and tickle the girl awake. They'd breakfast together. Like a family.

Then Ginny would teach Keara. She'd tell her stories of magical people from the past, or little things that she and her brothers had done before everything. Before he had ruined everything. Tom would stand in the doorway and watch as Ginny explained the basics of each of the core subjects or showed Keara how to use ink and quill without smudging the ink everywhere. And he'd wish that he could do that to.

He'd tried, once, to talk to Keara. He'd wanted to tell her about the one time that Slughorn had managed to spray one of the Gryffindors with shrinking potion and the kid had run around the day only a foot tall. But he couldn't. He'd opened his mouth and his throat had jammed up and he'd fled from the room, anger over flowing and destroying everything in his room.

And Ginny had come up half an hour later, saying that it didn't matter. She calmly mended everything that he'd broken and held him for a while. He wished that he was good enough for her. That he didn't have dreams of ripping her open and smearing her blood across the floor. That when he held her so tightly it was because he never wanted to let go, not because he was trying his hardest not to hurt her.

He couldn't hurt Ginny - he loved her too much. He couldn't hurt Keara - because she was his sister now. He couldn't hurt himself - Ginny wouldn't let him. So all that anger and bitterness and bloodlust built up inside him, like the sea rising up to a flood barrier waiting for exactly the right moment before it lapped the edges, breaking down the wall and destroying everything in its wake.

It was past midnight, about a week after Ginny had barrelled back in to his life, when Tom remembered something. A horrible something that, really, answered all of his problems. Like a stress ball painted with someone's face or a dartboard with a picture of someone stuck to it, littered with lots of little holes.

And it was perfect, this horrible something. It was too perfect for words. Ginny would worry where he was, but she wouldn't _know_. And when he got back things could go on as normal. Except they'd be better than normal because he wouldn't want to kill her anymore.

So Tom got up slowly from the bed, careful to keep the pressure off that one creaky spring. He changed in silence and took out his Hogwarts cloak, changing it, moulding it until it was no longer recognisable as school uniform. It dropped past his heels, dragging slightly along the floor. It's arms were wide and open, just the right length for his hands to appear out the end; his pale, white hands that were ghost like and ethereal against the pitch black cloak, almost glowing in the dim, pre-dawn light.

And when Tom pulled the hood over his face it dropped low, hiding his features in shadows. All he needed now was a scythe and the only difference between him and the Grim Reaper would be his shiny boots, the toes occasionally appearing as he walked, as quietly as possible, out of his room, down the stairs and slipping, silently, out of the house.

He walked through the front garden, cursing the squeaky gate and momentarily forgetting the wards, but not for long.

There was no way of telling how she'd known, but in that deafening silence he heard the ping of a light bulb springing to life and, when he turned up to the sound, his hand still resting on the gate hook, he saw that his bedroom light was on. She stood in the window and just watched him. Her bronze hair rested over one shoulder in a thick plait and there was a tiny frown creasing her brow on her otherwise emotionless face.

He turned and ran, then, the gate still swinging behind him, creaking out a ghastly, mourning cry into the grey, empty air.

Tom was scared. Scared she'd follow, scared she wouldn't. Scared she'd stop him, scared she couldn't. Scared he'd lose his control, scared that the control had never been his - hers, always hers. So he ran, feet pounding over the gravel, spraying the tiny stones out behind him as he raced to the edge of the lane and then, glancing momentarily behind him, he half-stepped, half-spun and Disapparated, leaving only her name hanging as a whisper in the air behind him.

She didn't hear the whisper because she couldn't hear. She knew what he was going to do and, this time, she couldn't find it in her to stop him. Because, while it was tearing her apart giving everything to him, it was tearing him apart not doing anything. Not being able to satisfy that insatiable bloodlust his first kill had seeded into him.

He appeared in the alleyway behind his orphanage, back in London again. He walked swiftly away from the place, that dreadful place that's sight, smell and even _taste_ lingered on his senses and sent chills down his spine. Even now when it was safe, when the horror of his childhood was gone. Tom allowed him a smile, then, when he walked down London's empty streets, his mind filled with images of Ginny.

Ginny as she smiled at him for the first time, that secret hiding just behind her eyes. Ginny as she taught him the Patronus charm. Ginny as she sneered down at him in that false persona the first time she saved him. Ginny as he stabbed her in the gut, walking away before he watched her die. Ginny when he stood in shock to see her, still alive. Ginny as she kissed him, accepted him. Ginny as they talked of burning together, grinning in that wicked, harmless way of hers. Ginny when she rose as his avenging angel, harmlessness gone and deadly fury rolling off her in waves and killing the man at her feet. Ginny when they cried together, when they told each other that they loved each other. Ginny when she said those three, heart breaking words over and over again like a stuck track in his head. 'I love you,' 'I love you,' 'I love you.'

'I love you.'

'I love you,' he whispered to the air, smile curving his lips and heart beating fit to break.

He was doing this for her. Because if he didn't he'd do something that would hurt her so much - too much. And he couldn't do that. Not to her.

He took a train, a bus, a taxi, anything, until, eventually, he arrived in Little Hangleton.

He was doing this for himself. Because they deserved it and if he didn't he might fall of an edge he didn't think he'd be able to climb back to. Because he had to.

It took a long time to reach his destination, longer than he'd thought. It was almost midnight again and he was exhausted and hungry, but determined. After it would take one apparation to get back home. Home. That little cottage with his girls. His Ginny and… now, maybe, somehow…. _his_ Keara - his little sister. But before he could return to them and love them like they deserved, like a family, he had to do this.

Riddle house loomed above the town like something out of a clichéd horror movie - you could almost imagine a thunder cloud hanging over this - and only this - house, raining and storming away, white lightning crackling down and lighting up the whole house, making the crooked chimney wobble and belch brick dust.

But the air was clear and breezy over the house, just as it was over the town. Tom walked up to the house accompanied only by the slight rustling of his transfigured robes. He raised his skeletal hand to the door knocker and paused momentarily. Choices… so many choices.

His fingers brushed the knocker, but did not raise it, did not alert the household. Instead he ran his fingers down, slowly down over the cool glass and woodwork until his hands rested on the door handle. Fingers curled around the thin piece of metal and, with a muttered _alohamora_ he turned it, pushing the door slightly until it sprang open under his grasp; it's perfectly oiled hinges not making a sound.

Tom shut the door behind him, the light click as the handle slid back in place sounding as loud as thunder in the silent hallway. Then he slid the dead bolt back into place so that no one would follow him. He walked forward and up the grand, slightly curving staircase that screamed money and vanity out at those _privileged_ enough to see it. At the top there was a landing open to the lower hallway and a door way that lead beyond to another hall way, doors leading into other rooms.

Tom walked forward and tried all of the rooms, pausing only to grin in satisfaction at the sight of who he could only presume was his old man sleeping next to, without touching, a pug faced, unfamiliar female with fake blonde hair and too-red lips. But he moved on. If his father had married again maybe there was more family - more scum to get rid of.

He came across one other bedroom, where a boy of about maybe nine, ten years of age lay curled up into a tiny ball, shaking as though he was half way through a nightmare, but silent. Tom stared at the boy who bore his features and looked exactly as he imagined he had done at his age and wondered if, when he slept he shook like that too. But that thought was quickly pushed aside. He checked that his hood was still in place before leaning forward and placing one cool hand over the boys mouth, shaking him silently awake.

The boy woke slowly, but as soon as he sensed a hand over his mouth and another person in the room who was neither of his parents, or any of the servants his eyes widened and filled with fear and… was that anger?

Perhaps.

'Shh,' Tom told the boy. 'I'm not going to hurt you.' Then he raised his wand and cast a silencing bubble over the room, so that even if the boy did scream his shouts would not be heard.

'Who are you?' the boy asked in a whisper, either scared of the consequence if he was not quiet, or clever enough to know to do as he was told. Tom would bet on the former.

'Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you,' Tom said again.

'What do you want? If it's money you're after, my dad's just down the hall, I don't have any! Please, just go,' he said in a babbling manner.

'Thomas - it is Thomas, isn't it?' Tom guessed. After all, from a man such as Tom Riddle Senior's point of view there could never be enough Tom Riddles in the world.

'How do you know my name?' the boy asked in a horrified whisper.

'I'm not here for money. I'm here for revenge. For, you see, my name is Tom Riddle, too.'

The boys eyes widened even further, if that was possible, but then they narrowed and he reached forward a hand. It was shaking as he reached for Tom's hood, but as it met no resistance he pulled the hood back, his eyes searching the newly revealed face - for what, Tom couldn't tell. After a moment of inspection the boy nodded. 'OK,' he said. 'I believe you.'

Tom raised his eyebrows in silent question and the boy before him shrugged.

'You look like me. Like Father. But thinner. You need to eat more,' his voice was quietly demanding, like Ginny's when she was ordering him what to do, but because it was what was best for him. Thomas blushed and immediately hid his hand under the covers. 'I - I mean…'

Tom laughed, lightly. 'No, I know. My girlfriend says the same.'

The boy smiled, hesitantly, blush slowly receding. 'Is she nice? Your girlfriend? I bet she's pretty. And clever.'

'Yes. Yes, she is.' Tom wondered at this. He'd come here to kill the family, but instead he was talking about Ginny his… girlfriend. Girlfriend didn't really seem to suit what she was to him - she was so much more than that, meant so much more than that.

'Why are you here?' Thomas asked again.

'Would you like to hear a story?' Tom asked. 'You won't like it, but it's why I'm here. Why I'm going to kill your father.'

The boy's eyes widened again, but he nodded jerkily. 'Go on,' he urged.

Tom did a double take. He'd just said he had come to kill the boy's father and he'd just accepted it… like he'd been expecting him to say something of the sort. 'My mother was a confused person, but she had… certain skills. She fell in love, but the man didn't love her back. So she made a potion - a love potion - and she poisoned the man with it. He took her and impregnated her and she thought, after seven long months, belly round with child, that he'd let her stay. That he'd love her, even without her love potion.

'But when the potion wore off he kicked her out, giving her nothing. My mother wandered the streets for weeks, months, selling anything she had just to get by. I was born in the street, straight onto the paving stones of a backstreet London alleyway and she gave me his name. She gave me my father's name and died in that street, on those paving stones, in that alleyway with no one there to care for her, except a bawling baby with bastard blood and a bastard name.'

'And his name was Tom Riddle,' the nine year old said quietly.

'His name. My name. Your name. Our father's name,' Tom agreed. 'He knew my mother had nothing in the world except the clothes on her back and the baby in her belly and he kicked her on to the streets all the same and - do you want to know the worst bit?'

The boy nodded quickly - not eagerly, but as though he was soaking it all up, so he could lock it all away in his heart so it could fester there, like it had in Tom's heart.

'The people who found me hated me,' Tom told his step brother earnestly. 'They beat me and laughed at me and made me an outcast even before I knew that it was happening. And, when I did know what was happening, they raped me over and over until I bled and could see nothing but that hatred, my blood and the never ending blackness of the death I could never, quite reach.'

'Then she saved you,' Thomas said. 'Your clever girlfriend. She tricked them and saved you because she doesn't hate you, she loves you.'

'Yes. How?'

'It's in your eyes,' the younger boy answered, interrupting the question before it was spoken. 'I don't hate you,' he whispered, as though his words might catch fire and burn everything down.

'No? Even knowing that I'm about to kill your father and probably your mother, too?' Tom asked so softly, so patronisingly, so scathingly.

Thomas stood up from the bed then and pulled his pyjama top off, to stand before Tom in just the bottoms. Tom took in the boy's purpled, battered torso without a blink, without a word or action of surprise.

'No,' Thomas said defiantly. 'Not even knowing that you're about to kill my father,' he repeated Tom's words.

Tom nodded carefully and indicated that the boy should turn, and, after a long time poised to fight back the younger Riddle turned, reluctantly, to show his beaten back.

'Shall I kill both of them?' Tom asked.

'I - you're asking me?' Thomas squeaked in shock, spinning round to face his stepbrother.

'Yes. Should I?' The younger of the two hesitated a moment before nodding. 'Really? You won't regret it - hate me? - later?'

'No. Just… don't make me watch.'

Tom smiled and handed the night shirt back, the boy snatching it and stuffing it hastily over his head. Then he sat back on the bed and curled himself up, a frown of determination striking on such an innocent face. Tom ruffled his hair in such a natural way they could have known each other since birth - been brothers in every sense of the word, not just by blood.

'Stay here,' Tom ordered. 'Make as little noise as you can and try and get back to sleep. But, whatever you do, do _not_ leave this room. Do you understand me?'

Thomas nodded. 'Will you come back for me?'

'Do you want me to?'

Thomas nodded again. 'I want to meet your clever girlfriend,' he whispered, a faint smile sadly lighting his face.

'OK,' Tom said, then he pulled the hood back over his face and swept from the room, locking the door behind him just in case - he liked the boy. He didn't want to be responsible for what would happen when the bloodlust took control and he slipped out of his mind. The last week with his girls it had been so hard not to slip. Not to let it blind him until the deed was done and find them dead. So, tonight, he'd let it loose. Let it do what it willed with his father.

_Father_. There was no man on earth who less deserved that title. He may not have known what had happened to his first child, but Tom doubted he'd have done anything if he had known. Not with the way he was treating his own, legitimate son.

Tom entered the main bedroom again and stood at the foot of the massive bed, looking at the two figures lying, untouching in motionless, noiseless sleep only occasionally broken by the man's snores. Tom moved his wand to his left, less dominant hand and flicked it, slamming the door and opening the windows, lowering the temperature of the room and causing an ungodly wind to flow icily around and around, fluttering the sheets and knocking pieces of paper flying.

The two occupants sat up, the woman screaming and the man whimpering pathetically, pushing back against the headboard.

Tom smiled slowly, sarcastically, knowing that that was the only part of his face they could see. Wishing that he had brought a scythe with him to _really_ scare them. Instead, he pulled out of his sleeve the dagger that he'd stabbed Ginny in the gut with. Since she had mentioned her friend's improvements to her own knife Tom had been making amendments of his own, especially during those weeks that Ginny had disappeared.

The blade glinted in the light that not so much streamed, but trickled in through the window. The sky was almost yellow outside and the wind had picked up during Tom's little chat with his brother. There would be a storm by the time he got home.

The woman screamed again as Tom took a step closer to the bed.

'Shh,' he said, raising a finger to his lips. 'It's OK, it's all alright now,' he told them.

'Who - who the hell are you?' the man said, still trembling, his voice cracking.

Tom tsked and his smile widened, realising with a certain thrill that, when he let the urge to kill out on his terms he could control it, turn it, bend it to his will - deadlier than it would ever be other wise. 'Don't you recognise your own son?' he asked teasingly, tone dripping with venom.

'My son's nine!' the woman screeched. 'You're not-'

Tom cut her off with a quick slash of green light, stopping her words, her breath, her heartbeat. And he felt nothing. She was no one. Just a faceless nobody in an endless crowd of endless nobodies, none of them meaning _anything_. The light flashed only briefly, but its eerie glow filled the room with light for a split second and in that second Tom's eyes picked up hundreds of tiny details.

The pages of a book that weren't quite even. The edge of a sheet that hadn't been tucked in. A pen rolling slightly on the desk. A spider web in one of the high corners of the room where the maid obviously couldn't reach. A tiny crack in the paint of the window sill. The corner of the rug that had folded over. The single strand of hair that hung low over his forehead, waving in front of his eyes. The miniscule, multiple beads of sweat that broke out over his father's forehead.

Then the green faded and there was just Tom and his father. The fake breeze he'd summoned had given way, now. The only wind was that which filtered in through the wide open windows.

'How long's it been, old man?' Tom taunted, taking a step around the edge of the bed. 'Over seventeen years. Huh, imagine that!'

His laugh, when it came, was terrible to hear. It was cold and heartless. It made a void in the air that, like a dementor, sucked out every good feeling from the room leaving only that merciless, humourless laugh echoing and bouncing of the walls.

'Are you scared, daddy?' he asked, not waiting for an answer from the quivering man now directly in front of him. Tom leant over and cupped his fathers face in his hand, his long, thin fingers teasing the hair by his ears, trailing down his jaw to under his chin, forcing the man to look up at him. Up at him. The abandoned son. The black mark on a flawless façade. 'I am,' Tom whispered into his father's ear, as if it was some great secret.

Then Tom let the man fall back, plucking the blade once more from the hidden pocket within his robes.

'What… what are you going to do?' the man asked. Just 'the man'. Just another faceless nobody who had to face up to his deeds, finally.

'I don't want you to be scared, daddy,' Tom said. 'I want you to smile.'

He didn't cut very far - didn't need to. Just enough that the flesh would tear. It was an old trick, this one. The Glasgow Grin they called it. But Tom's was worse.

Holding his father's mouth open he cut a couple of centimetres into the flesh on either side of the mouth, his father's teeth gritted, a keening, whimpering cry escaping his lips in the effort not to scream - to scream would be worse, and that was exactly what Tom intended that he would do. He transfigured some paper into salt and, malicious smile in place, he poured it onto the cuts.

Remembering his brother, in a sudden act of compassion Tom raised silencing wards, so that he wouldn't have to listen as his father screamed and screamed, tearing the cuts further and further as the salt fell further in and hurt him more and made him scream louder and tear the cuts further and further. A ruthless circle.

Tom sat in the seat by the fireplace and watched silently as the man on the bed writhed and squirmed, slowly killing himself with nothing more than a cut and a little salt.

* * *

The rain had started falling by the time the man finally stopped screaming. Fat, heavy droplets that flew in the window and stained the carpet, thunder starting to rumble in the distance.

Tom Riddle Senior lay on the bed, his body and face contorted in pain, even in death. Blood soaked the sheets and, at some point, he had knocked the body of his wife off the bed. His son had sat and watched in silence for the entire thing. He stood, now, and went to his father. Eventual cause of death: blood loss. He had screamed too loudly for too long.

Tom pulled a handkerchief from nowhere and wiped the blood from his father's face. Then he pulled the jaw up so that his father's lips touched again, for the first time in hours. He transfigured another sheet of paper into a sumptuous, silky, blood red ribbon and tied it around his father's face so that his jaw was held in place.

His lips were cracked and raw, his eyes blood shot and contracted. But his mouth - what a smile. A smile that literally went from ear to ear.

Tom stood and walked calmly out, cancelling the silencing spell and walking in to his stepbrother's room. Thomas was sitting on the edge of the bed in his everyday clothing - clothing Tom couldn't have even afforded to wear on Sundays - and a bag was waiting, stuffed full of things, at his feet.

'I couldn't sleep,' the boy explained quietly.

Tom nodded. 'It's done.'

His step brother looked up at him, fear in his eyes along with… something else. Something almost like gratitude, but too scared that gratitude was the wrong thing to be feeling. 'Did… was mother in pain, when she died?'

Tom shook his head. 'No. Your mother felt nothing, except a little fear. The same can not be said for our father.'

'That's… OK. OK. Can we go?'

Tom nodded and picked up the boy's bag, brushing his hood back again so his brother could see his face. Then he offered his hand and the boy took it without a moment's hesitation. Then they disappeared without so much as a flash of light or a puff of smoke. They were gone.

The servants would find what happened the next morning and the police would come. They would retch silently and shake their heads, wondering what poor fate the boy had been taken off to. When the medics looked at the bodies they would say that Mr Riddle bled to death, but it was unclear how Mrs Riddle died. Nothing was wrong with her - no bruising, no cuts, no internal bleeding, nothing. But she was dead, no one could doubt that. In they end they'd think that she died after her husband, thinking that it was the shock of seeing him die like that that had killed her.

In years to come they'd puzzle over it and wish the son had died quickly. For his surviving was impossible. And the medics would wonder how Mrs Riddle died first - how that could be possible. And other killers would wonder exactly how much fear they had to inflict to kill someone without touching them. And the general public would shake their heads and warn their children to be on their very best behaviour or the smiling murderer would come after them and whisk them away to an unknown , but surely gruesome, fate.

* * *

Tom and Thomas arrived at the end of the lane that led towards the cottage where Keara and Ginny were waiting for Tom's return. They walked slowly through the rain, letting it pound down on them and wash their sins away. The memories of what had happened would never go and the countryside would be haunted with a tale of a mysterious murderer for years to come, but that pounding rain, as merciless as Tom had been, washed away any guiltiness either of them felt.

The gate creaked, as it always did, when it was opened, and as soon as they stepped over the threshold a light switched on in one of the windows and a face appeared. It was not Ginny, but Keara who looked down at them and frowned. But it wasn't a hateful or angry frown - it was the face of someone who was worried and would push others away because of that caring.

Tom walked up the path to his home, with his brothers bag in one hand and the other holding the clutching fingers of said brother.

'It'll be alright,' Tom said, putting down the bag and using his free hand to brush the wet hair out of the boy's face in a surprisingly caring gesture. The boy smiled a little, shyly and then turned back to face the door expectantly.

Tom hesitated a moment only, but that moment was long enough for the door to be wrenched open from the inside.

'Oh for crying out loud,' Keara hissed at them, tears leaking down her face. 'Don't just stand there, come in already!'

'Sorry,' Tom apologised before realising what he'd done, his mouth shutting with snap.

Keara shook her head and rubbed her cheeks bruisingly with a ferocious hand. 'Yeah, well, the longer you stand there the shittier you make Ginny feel.'

Tom picked up the bag again and followed Keara, his hand starting to ache a little because of the death grip the nine year old still held on it. He put the bag down in the hallway and shut the door and walked into the dining room, unconsciously manoeuvring Thomas in front of him as he waited for the hell fire Ginny would unleash.

Ginny was sitting at the dining room table. She was cradling a mug of tea in her hands, her thick her plaited back so that he got the full blown glare.

'Hello Tom,' she said icily.

'Ginny-' Tom began, but stopped when she held up her hand.

Ginny turned to the younger Riddle boy and, getting out of her seat, crouched down next to him. 'Hey,' she said, tones suddenly soft and welcoming, scowl gone. 'What's your name?'

'Thomas Richard Riddle,' he said proudly, thin chest puffing up slightly. 'You're Tom's clever girlfriend.'

Ginny smiled at him, but then turned to scowl fiercely up at Tom. Reminding him that he was still in for a good tongue-lashing. 'I'm Ginny,' she told the boy, smiling at him again. 'You must be just younger than Keara-' Keara waved over at the boy, grinning and tilting back on her chair, feet resting on the table, crossed at the ankle. '-she's eleven. How old are you?'

'Nearly ten,' he said grinning, waving his free hand back at Keara.

'But, you know, we already have a Tom Riddle here and having two is going to get really confusing, isn't it?' Ginny asked, somehow managing not to sound patronising.

Thomas froze with sudden fear. 'Are you… are you going to throw me out?' he stuttered out.

Ginny shook her head and took the hand not held by Tom. 'Shh, it's ok. Of course I'm not going to throw you out. I might throw Tom out, though,' she added in a low growl, glaring up at Tom again. 'But is it ok if I call you Richard? Or Ricky? How's that? Ricky.'

The nine year old nodded eagerly. 'Ricky,' he said, trying out the name for size. 'Yeah, I like it. But don't throw Tom out.'

Ginny ignored the last and said, instead, 'do you want to get some sleep? I bet you've been up all night and are really tired now.'

Ricky looked anxiously up at his stepbrother, than back across at Ginny, who had opened her arms welcomingly. Slowly, with all the care of a recently startled rabbit returning to its hole, he let go of Tom's hand and stepped forward into Ginny's embrace. Her arms tightened around him and he hugged her back, a little loosely, but enough for now.

'There's a star,' she told him. 'Come on, let's get you settled, hmm?'

Ricky nodded.

'Keara?' Ginny asked, the girl in question jumping up and coming round the edge of the table. 'Can you take Ricky upstairs and settle him into my bedroom, please?'

'Aw, but-' Keara started to protest - she'd wanted to see the fireworks between Tom and Ginny.

'Don't argue with me, Keara,' Ginny told her - an order this time. Then her voice and face softened as she asked Ricky, 'is that alright?'

Ricky nodded. 'Yes, but please don't kick Tom out,' he asked of her again.

'We'll see. Off you go, you two.'

Ricky grasped for Keara's hand the moment Ginny let him fully go and the girl took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. The two paused in the hall to retrieve his bag before they thumped up the stairs.

Tom took off his Grim Reaper Cloak, draping it over a chair and waited.

Ginny returned to her seat, now hunched over her cup of cool tea.

They stayed in silence for quite a while; just listening to the noises of the two kids above them getting ready for bed.

'You look like shit,' Ginny finally said.

'Yes,' Tom agreed. And, after a moment, 'so do you.'

'Gee, thanks,' she responded sarcastically.

Then there was another awkward silence during which Tom rocked slightly on his feet and Ginny looked everywhere but at Tom's face.

'You know, on my old time line, it took you another five years to do that?' Ginny broke the silence again.

'Huh,' Tom said, the only thing he could think to say at the time.

'But you killed Ricky, too.'

'Oh.'

There was another long silence.

'Dammit, Ginny!' he shouted, losing what little patience he had. 'Don't just fucking sit there! Talk to me! Yell at me… something! Anything,' the last words said as a plea.

Ginny looked at him then with tired brown eyes. 'What do you want me to say, Tom? I don't know what to do. Hagrid, I can accept, was an easy scapegoat to stop the school from closing. Myrtle, again, she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But this time you actually went out and conscientiously murdered two people.'

'Would you have preferred that I kill you or Keara, instead?' Tom ground back.

'What the fuck?' Ginny cried out, standing up and turning to face him. 'What the hell have I or Keara got to do with anything?'

'It's killing me, Gin!' he shouted back, then quietening. 'It's killing me from the inside out and… I don't know why. All I know is that… thrill, that high I got from the death of that Hufflepuff girl has got me addicted and… I was losing, Ginny! I couldn't lose to it! Not when you and Keara are so close. I would have killed you… I was killing myself trying _not_ to kill you. I didn't know what else to do.'

'Told me,' Ginny replied on a whisper, her eyes slightly wider than usual as she took in what he'd said. 'You just have to tell me, Tom. I can't help if you don't let me in.'

'What would you have done, Gin? What could you possibly have come up with?' he retorted scathingly.

Ginny snarled back at him, 'I need to know, Tom. That's _me_ in your head, killing you from inside out. That's _me_ telling you to hurt and kill. I don't know what to do, but there has to be something!' she was beyond desperate, now. Standing, just looking at him, voice thick and throat sore and Tom knew she'd spent the last day trying not to cry. Trying not to hope too hard that he might come home again.

'I'm sorry, Ginny. So, so sorry.'

Ginny nodded and her head bowed to stare at the floor. She sniffed and that was all it took for Tom to rush to her side and hug her tight. And this time if his arms were too tight it was because he never wanted to hurt her ever again, not because he was trying not to kill her.

'I can't… I can't say I regret it, though,' Tom added, hesitantly.

Ginny looked at him, searching his face for something, like Ricky had earlier.

'He… he was abusing him, Gin,' he said quietly. 'I went to Ricky's room first because I thought, what would be worse than watching your wife and child die before your eyes? Just quick, Avada Kedavra deaths, but deaths nonetheless. But… he reached out to me somehow. He looks so much like me, Ginny,' attempted to explain.

'I know,' Ginny said, sniffing a little still. 'He's like you would have been at his age.'

'That's what I thought,' Tom said with a tiny grin. 'And he… I don't know. Something he said. Then… then he took of his shirt and showed me the bruises, showed me the scars and still weeping gashes in his back and I couldn't.' Tom stopped a moment, wondering if he'd ever be able to explain. 'He was… he _is_ everything I was at his age. And when I told him I was his brother and I was going to kill our father… he told me to. Let me. And his mother. I did it for him, Gin. For him _and_ me.'

'Revenge never gets the world anywhere,' Ginny told him softly.

'Oh, shut up,' Tom said teasingly, stooping to kiss her on the lips gently.

'You've changed, you know, Tom,' Ginny said idly, leaning into him. 'You used to be… distant. Harsh. But here you are, saving kids and bringing them home with you. I just wish you didn't have to _kill_ him.

'What was I supposed to be do, Ginny?' Tom asked, temper flaring a little again.

Ginny scowled. 'We've been through this, Tom. I don't know. I don't know what to do, and that's killing me as much as it's killing you.'

'Hah!' Tom said, suddenly not caring what he said or did. 'What do you know of dying, Ginny? All you ever did was watch as you let the people around you die for you.'

Her hand pulled back and slapped him hard around the face. 'How dare you,' she hissed. 'How fucking DARE you. I went through hell in those months, in this past week!'

Tom put a hand up to his cheek and couldn't help but let his anger rise to meet hers. 'And what do you know of hell, Ginny? I've spent years locked up and beaten and _raped_. Your Harry was tortured day after day whilst you just _sat there _and let it happen. Even Keara and Ricky have been through worse shit than you. I thought, for a while, you could save me. Then you fucking _disappeared_ for weeks on end. You think you can just sweep in at the last moment, once the damage has been done and save everyone and everything will be back to how it was?'

Ginny didn't shout at him, like he'd expected. Didn't even glare at him. When she did finally look at him and speak again it was her quiet resignation that really got him. 'No. I don't know what it is to die. I don't know what hell is like. Everyone in the world has been through more than me, haven't they?' she asked lightly. 'Anyone could watch as their family members are tortured and murdered before their eyes, knowing that no hard they struggled the bonds that held them would never break. Anyone could sit by untouched as the man they love is dragged through hell and back every single day for almost three months and know that every shout they make, every attempt to escape, will only make his hell ten times worse the next day. Anyone could travel back fifty-five years in time to save a future they will never know.

'Anyone could befriend the boy who they knew would one day kill everyone they ever cared for. Anyone could fall in love with that boy and could cope with feeling like they'd betrayed everyone who ever mattered. Anyone could still love that boy, even after he stabbed them in the gut and left them to die. Anyone could face themselves to fight for that boy. Anyone could step into oblivion for a love that was only occasionally returned. Anyone could watch that boy being raped and not go completely mad or flee in fear. Anyone could sit at home for over twenty four hours and wait for that boy to return home, hoping that he hadn't decided to jump off a cliff or run in front of a bus.

'Anyone. Anyone at all could handle that kind of pressure without going mad. Anyone at all,' her tone, somehow, was still light and unassuming. 'So thank you for reminding me of that. Thank you for reminding me how I've had it easy from the moment I was born. Thank you for telling me exactly what it is you see when you look at me.'

Then Ginny pushed gently past him to the stairs. Her steps were light, like her tone. Tom wondered, thinking back through her words, what on earth he'd done to deserve _anyone_, let alone someone as amazing as Ginny. Wondering what on earth he was thinking when he said she'd seen and done nothing. What he, Keara and Ricky had been through did not compare to what Ginny had. Sure, they were hurting. But those cuts and bruises would heal and the memories, whilst they wouldn't fade, could be pushed to the side as they turned their faces like flowers to the sun to the bright future that was theirs to do what they would with it.

But Ginny's hurts would never fade. Her cuts and bruises were the memories, not the physical harm. Tom thanked whatever deity there might be that he had never succeeded in breaking down her mental barriers. He had lived without love, until her. Ginny had lived love, and had every single one of those loves torn ruthlessly away from her.

Tom sat down and groaned as he buried his head in his hands, only now realising exactly what he'd done.

'You know,' Keara said idly, appearing at the bottom of the stairs like magic, chewing casually on her fingernails, 'maybe you should have stayed on the doorstep. I think you actually managed to make Ginny feel even shittier than she was earlier.'

'Fuck off,' he replied brutally.

'No, really,' the eleven year old insisted. 'I mean… I knew you guys were a bit odd in the head. Ginny told me everything. But, seriously. What you did today, killing your dad and step mum… that's just wrong. Then of course you have to go and prove that you're a complete spaz and go and tell Ginny that she's worthless.'

'I said _fuck off_.'

'I know you did.' Keara picked a Clementine out of the fruit bowl in the middle of the table and sat down in 'her' chair, leaning it back and putting her feet on the table, teetering dangerously close to falling over backwards. 'But, see, I can't. Fuck off, I mean. Because I like you. You're a git and a little whoopsy-daisy in the head, but you're ok. Well, when you're not half way through a killing spree,' the girl added, peeling the skin off the fruit and flicking it daintily out of existence.

'What does it take to make you go away?' Tom snarled.

Keara grinned at him then. Actually goddamn _grinned_ at him. 'You know, that's the longest sentence you've ever said to me?'

'Here's another: you're really irritating.'

'No, see, that's three words, just the same as 'good morning, Keara'. Though I suppose you could say it's three and a bit words, what with the 'you're'. So that'd be like… I dunno. Shorter than 'can you pass the cheese' or whatever, though.'

'Dear Merlin, no wonder I never talk to you.' You could practically see the steam coming out of Tom's ears by then. 'You never shut up!'

'Yeah well, that's your problem now, isn't it?'

Tom shifted in his seat at her accusatory tone. 'What do you mean?'

'Well you don't want to talk to Gin and she'd never let you near Ricky, you're too lofty to speak to yourself and you'd go even madder if you didn't speak at all. I don't want you any madder, you're bad enough as it is. So that leaves me. Self-appointed talker,' Keara said completely seriously.

'I could kill you,' he said.

'Go on then,' she dared him.

There was a long time during which Tom did nothing and Keara ate some more of the segments of her fruit. She didn't say anything to him, or even look at him like Ginny would have done. She just sat there, eating her orange and trying not to let the juice spurt into her eyes.

'Aw fuck it,' Tom said once she'd done eating and banished the last of the orange skin.

'You know you're vocabulary has decreased dramatically since you went and killed the other Riddles,' Keara said mildly, moving her feet to reach for another fruit; an apple this time. Then she propped herself back up, long hair swinging loosely in the gap of nothingness between her head and the floor.

'You shouldn't do that,' Tom said, uncertain why.

'Yeah, that's what sis says. Tells me I'll break my neck, one day. I won't though, look.' Keara raised her ankles of the table, but instead of rocking forward she rocked back, just a little. She wobbled like that for a moment, balancing impossibly, before she put her feet back on the table. And all the while she was rubbing the apple against her sleeve until it shone.

'No, I meant the table,' Tom blurted out, before he could stop himself.

Keara laughed. Not like his laugh, earlier, but a childish, care free laugh. 'What? The table shouldn't do that? Do what? It just stands there day in, day out.'

Tom really wanted to scowl at that, to glare at her. Instead he grinned. A nice grin. 'No, I meant you'll get the table dirty.'

'Yeah, and my fingers actually will turn green, you'll actually turn into the snake lord and Ginny will disappear off the face of the earth when the timeline straightens itself out. Get real, bro. We live in the world of the impossible, the improbable and the downright unlikely. The least you do would be to acknowledge that fact.'

Tom's grin slipped and he _was_ scowling again.

Keara took the first, crunching bite into her apple.

He sat and watched her and she sat and watched him.

'I hate you,' he said finally.

'Fantastic,' Keara grinned. 'Now all you have to do is go apologise to sis.'

'I really, really hate you.'

Keara laughed, flipping away the apple core that, like the fruit peel, disappeared in mid air. 'Aww, I know Tommy-wommy, I love you too!'

Then, for no reason he could fathom, she hugged him - _hugged_ him… _him_! - and bounded off to her room.

Tom was muttering ferociously all the way up the stairs. About stupid little sisters and meddling brats. Ginny'd already seen him at the top of the stairs by the time he realised that Keara had manipulated him spectacularly, without even mentioning Ginny's name until he'd said he hated Keara. Dammit.

* * *

Ginny wasn't crying because Ginny didn't cry. It was something Ginny just didn't do. Well, except those couple of times at the beginning of last week when she'd found Tom. But they didn't count, not really. She'd been under a lot of stress and pressure at the time. Ginny sighed and tried to ignore the prickling in the backs of her eyes. Told herself that it was hay fever. Not that she'd ever got hay fever, but it was the right time of the year - sort of - and you never knew.

She looked right in front of her and centred her energy like she'd been practising. Then, slowly, she told it what to do. And it lifted her, slowly, off the floor. Ginny liked this state of meditation that Dumbledore had taught her about. It was relaxing and pushed her at the same time. It took a lot of effort to keep that energy in her without an overflow, but it was relaxing to be able to float like that, away from the earth and, for a little while, away from her troubles.

Ginny really thought that Tom would be the death of her, one day. She used to think that about her brothers, even about her Harry at one point, but then it had always been in jest. She didn't think that about Tom.

Tom Riddle was… an enigma. That was the best way to describe him. There were so many different layers to him that Ginny didn't even try to understand. She just knew that she loved him and that would be her damning fault. It was hard to believe that she'd ever thought that he might love her back, but she'd thought… there was a look in his eyes. There was a way that he'd touched her. But not since that first night after she'd come back and he'd tried to kill himself.

Since then he'd been so separate, so distant. Watching her and Keara, unable to help. She'd seen the hurt when he hadn't been able to talk to Keara. She'd seen the self-loathing and the fury and she hadn't known how to deal with it because she'd never had to deal with it before. She could live with angry and puzzling. She could never fathom her brothers' motives and Harry had always had a short temper.

But never a murderous temper. Never one that consumed him and made him kill mindlessly.

Except Tom hadn't killed mindlessly - Ginny kept forgetting that part. Tom had killed carefully, brilliantly. The muggle police would never know who it was and the Aurors wouldn't bother looking. With nothing happening in the wizarding world, people just assumed that nothing was happening in the muggle world. Ginny had always wondered at that, but she'd never asked. It seemed too frivolous at the time.

One of the bedroom doors opened and Keara was there, in her doorway, looking at her as if floating in the air was perfectly normal. Well, after all the strange things that had happened to her in the past week, no doubt it would seem normal, Ginny reasoned.

'Hey.'

'Hey, love,' Ginny greeted, unfolding her legs and straightening them, noticing with some amusement that they still didn't touch the floor. So she concentrated and she dropped the last couple of centimetres, the rest of the things in the room jumping up a couple of centimetres. 'Damn,' she muttered to herself. 'I need to work on that.'

Keara giggled before her face turned utterly serious. 'So how are things with Tom?' she asked immediately. Ginny wondered sometimes if Keara was more suitable for Slytherin or Gryffindor; there was no beating about the bush with her lack of subtlety, but that was just a cover a lot of the times - Keara could manipulate Merlin himself if she could be bothered.

'He told me that I knew nothing about anything and was basically just a silly little girl compared to you three,' Ginny said, failing, now, to keep the bitterness from her tone.

'Boys are prats,' Keara told her, producing a pout.

'Period,' Ginny agreed.

Keara grinned. 'Oh, I dunno. Tom can be nice sometimes.'

'Doesn't stop him from being a prat, though,' Ginny pointed out, making Keara giggle again.

'But we love him.'

'Yes,' Ginny agreed again. 'We love him.' Then she sighed and flopped down on the sofa. 'I don't get it Keara. He's changed so much. But, at the same time… he's the same. Do you know what I mean?'

'Nope,' the eleven year old said cheerfully. 'But no worries, I hardly ever get what you're going on about, I just nod my head and make encouraging sounds.'

Ginny thwacked her sister upside the head. 'Now is one of the times to make encouraging noises, not tell me you don't understand.'

'How am I supposed to understand when _you_ don't?' Keara pointed out with a smug grin. 'Shall I go and talk to him for you?' she volunteered.

'He doesn't talk to you,' Ginny responded, hesitating. It would be lovely to have a go-between for herself and Tom, but this was Keara and Tom had just killed two people in cold blood.

'Relax, sis,' Keara assured her. 'He's pissed off. Angry people always know how to talk, though they generally say things they don't mean,' she said pointedly.

'Thanks.' Ginny sat up and hugged her adopted sister tightly. If there was ever a good thing to come out of this mess, it was Keara.

'Ok, but, look, this may take a while, so don't come running unless you actually hear me screaming or Tom laughing hysterically.'

'Sure thing.'

And then Keara was out of the room, thundering down the stairs like a herd of elephants. Ginny shook her head and grinned ruefully. But now was not the time to remember old times, better lives. Now she should practice her _Inadfectatus Magicus_ again. Damn Dumbledore and his damnedly difficult unaffected magic.

Ginny was uncertain how long she sat there, cross legged, hanging in the air before Keara came bouncing up the stairs, indicating that her talk with Tom had, at least, not ended in her casualty. Keara winked at Ginny before skipping in to her room and shutting the door behind her with rather more force than necessary.

Then, mere seconds later, Tom's head appeared on the stairs. He appeared to be muttering about some distasteful thing or another, a frown prominent on his face. When he reached the top of the stairs he turned to look at her with an unfathomable expression on his face.

'Ginny, I-'

'Wait,' Ginny cut him off. She sent him a half smile, half frown to let him know that she was serious, but that it had nothing to do with him. Slowly, not rushing it this time, or unfolding her legs, Ginny drifted slowly down to sit on the sofa, then patted the space beside her in a silent request to Tom to join her.

'How did you do that?' Tom asked her, momentarily forgetting his planned apology in favour of the need to know whatever knowledge she had that let her float.

'My private lessons with Dumbledore have proved quite fruitful,' Ginny explained with a shadow of her usual grin that didn't - quite - appear.

Tom sighed and took that as his cue to start saying sorry again. 'I'm… I don't think I have the words to tell you how much I regret saying what I did just then to you,' he settled with.

'It's ok.' Ginny smiled softly, tenderly, as if she had never expected him to find the right words and was simply grateful that he could at least admit that.

Tom shook his head, taking one of her hands in his. 'No, no it isn't. I've acted like a complete bastard around you since the moment we met and you've no idea how much I wish that wasn't so.'

'Tom, sweet, you act like a bastard towards _everyone_. If you hadn't towards me I would probably have taken you to St Mungos,' Ginny teased him.

'I didn't stab anyone else in the gut, though.'

'I survived,' Ginny told him gently. 'That's what I'm best at - surviving. Sometimes it's more of a curse than a gift.'

'Still doesn't make it right. Doesn't make any of it right,' Tom informed her solemnly. 'I tried to kill you and have killed three other people. It's driving me crazy, Ginny, having this voice in my head telling me that it's right, that it's good and that it's what I'm destined to do! I don't want my life planned out for me! I know that I can be a complete bastard but I'm not evil. I don't want to be a Dark Lord.'

Ginny watched him curiously. 'Not even knowing the power you would have at your finger tips if you were?'

'I already have that power, Gin. The difference is that I know when not to use it.'

Ginny kissed Tom then. He'd never sounded so mature - never sounded less like Voldemort. If only she could free him of herself. If only she could find the truth of her older self and bring her down. Ginny didn't know if she had the strength to do it, but she knew that if she didn't then no one else could. Tom might have, perhaps, if he hadn't already succumbed. But Ginny wasn't willing to put that kind of responsibility on any one else's shoulders. It was hers and - quite literally - hers alone.

'I'm sorry,' she apologised when they came up for air.

'Sorry for what?' Tom asked, clearly baffled by her apology.

'For being such a hypocrite,' Ginny explained. 'I mean, Ricky's your brother, even if you have only just met him. If it had been one of my brothers in his situation I probably would have-' but he placed a gentle kiss to her lips to stop the flow of words.

'No, you wouldn't Gin,' Tom said.

'I killed that man,' she reminded him.

Tom looked at her dubiously. 'No matter what you might think, Gin, you are a Gryffindor. The man was _raping_ me. I do not doubt that any one of your friends - either from now or the past - would have jumped to my rescue.'

'Do you honestly believed they would have killed him? Like that?'

'The Slytherins? Perhaps not. I think they would have thought that death was too good for the man. The Gryffindors? Most definitely.'

Ginny grinned a little, snuggling closer to him and draping an arm around his waist. 'Is it wrong of me to find that comforting?'

'No.'

'Good.' Ginny looked up and placed a tender kiss on Tom's jaw. 'Because I'm going to kill again,' she whispered.

Tom stiffened where he sat, but did not comment or react in any other way.

'You deserve better than having that bitch controlling you, Tom. I'm going to find her and I'm going to kill her.'

And neither of them doubted what Ginny said. Neither of them needed to be told who 'that bitch' was. Tom said nothing, but he relaxed slowly and, eventually, Tom and Ginny fell asleep in one another's arms again. Both of their dreams delving into deepest black of plots to find and destroy what Ginny would one day, maybe, become. And then soaring up, above the clouds of worries and unconsciously planning their future together with their unorthodox family.

_

* * *

_

A/N: Oh my God! I am so, so, so sorry! I never planned for this to happen! Tom wasn't actually going to go and kill his family and he

definitely_ wasn't going to bring home another orphan kid, but he was sitting at home whining at Ginny and Keara and he just, sorta... well, you read it! Gawddammit. See! This is what happens when you let the characters write the story. Still, for those blood thirsty types (don't even try to deny it, Leelee...) I'm sure you loved the Glasgow Grin bit. Or smile. One of the two. I felt sick writing it, but when I read it back it didn't seem too bad. I hope?_

_And, hah! I bet this chapter wasn't what you were expecting, hey? Well I never said anything about muggle or wizard therapy, some of you just assumed... I'm not a shrink, loves, I don't do the mind-stuff. Not really. Besides, what's more therapeutic than saving your previously unknown stepbrother from having the shit beat out of him and then murdering the guy responsible very, very slowly? Hmm? _

_Well, we have one more chapter to go (I know!! I'm so excited!! I still don't know exactly what's going to happen, though - I'm still throwing ideas around) and that's it! And I know I've promised a sequel, but it may be a while before I start writing it. We'll see. Anyway, if any of you come up with some more really good words like 'vindictive' and 'malicious' let me know!_

_Much love and please drop me a review - it makes my day!  
Cal  
xxx_

_PS, many thanks to all of my readers from (in no particular order) - Ireland, Israel, Kazakstan, USA, UK, Australia, Singapore, Spain, India, Canada, Argentina, France, Sri Lanka, Finland, Greece, Thailand, Germany, Netherlands, Mauritius, Norway, Portugal, Austria, Malasia, Russia, Venezuela, Latvia, Brazil, Sweden, Japan, Italy, Hong Kong, Philippines, Belgium, Hungary, Serbia M, Guyana, New Zealand, Poland, Czech Revar and Mexico! And good luck to all in the Olympics!_

_PPS, keep your eyes open for a fluffy one shot, _Sweet Things_, about Eileen and Theo's first date - didn't think I'd forgotten about them, now did you?_


	10. Though Closed Eyes

_Locked inside your head  
__Do you realize the things you said  
Never made sense?_

_We can sit here and laugh  
__But we don't know the half of it,  
In your defence_

_We've been talking a while  
And it seems to me each time you smile  
Lights are coming on  
But they don't burn too strong  
And they won't stay for long  
And then they're gone again_

_Funnyman, gotta plan to be something wonderful  
Funnyman, listening to the world turning on its sail  
Turn it into a brand new universe  
Funnyman could never be anything else._

_Do you remember that night  
When I had to play your angel  
Saving your soul?  
Even though you were holding on tight  
A part of you was taken by the demons below_

_**Disclaimer: Harry Potter ™ belongs to JKR and WB. Song Lyrics (Funnyman) ©KT Tunstall**_

**Warning: some pretty nasty stuff in this chapter, but not as bad as previously, so I'm not sure why I'm bothering with the warning. Death, murder, implied death and murder, self-mutilation and implied sex. I think that's it...**

_**

* * *

**_

10: Through Closed Eyes

Darkness.

The shadows that hid in the corners of her mind behind the brightest of intentions, desires or memories. But suddenly they weren't hiding anymore. They were breaking through, up and around, swallowing her whole and it was worse than drowning.

There used to be a pond at the bottom of the Weasley garden. It was a tiny little thing, but deep; more like a well with no wall than a pond, really. Once, when Ginny was really little, there had been a wonderful fall of snow and she and her brothers had escaped out into the garden and ran amok, flinging snowballs and making snowmen and snow-angels. Then Ginny, who'd only just begun to walk, had tripped over a branch that had been hidden by the thick covering of snow and she had hurled, head first, into the pond.

The layer of ice covering the pond cracked under her weight and the pressure of the fall and she'd only had enough time to shout a warning before it gave way beneath her and she'd fallen into the icy water. It had been freezing - colder than Ginny had ever been in her entire life - and the ice had seemed to form again over her head and she was trapped under it in the inky black water that rushed in her mouth and nose and choked and suffocated her.

Ginny had been under the ice for, perhaps, a minute or two. That was all. Short enough of a time that she hadn't even blacked out and she had collapsed into gasping sobs, clutching to the front of her daddy's cloak after he'd rescued her. All she needed was a change of clothes and a hot cocoa and she was all smiles and childish giggles again. The next day the pond was gone, the only sign of it ever being there was the freshly turned earth that stuck out like sore thumb on the ice covered ground.

But this was worse than that. Because Ginny knew that she was still breathing, had composed herself enough to know that. In through the nose and out through the mouth, in through the nose and out through the mouth like a mantra, over and over again. Truth be told she didn't even need to do that. But there was so much darkness and it was clinging to her, clawing away at her and she was desperate to get away from it. Any semblance of control she might still have over herself she would cling to it.

In through the nose and out through the mouth.

Ever since she'd arrived in the past Ginny had been terrified of the absolute dark. Eerie glows she could handle, even darkness with a pinprick of light she could survive by. But somehow she was caught in the pitch black and it was creeping through her mind, as well, reducing her good, calm thoughts to dust.

Then, out of the shadows, she appeared. She looked, by now, even less like Ginny. Her paper thin skin was drawn tight over her features, making the pert nose seem too shiny and the lips and eyes too drawn. Her eyebrows were almost gone - now just a thin line of hair - and her chin had almost disappeared in to her neck. Her eyes, now slit like, were a brown-red that wasn't quite crimson, but no longer the original chocolate.

Her hair is darker than it used to be - almost blood red, rather than the honey red of old. Blue veins pulse just beneath her skin, making her snake-like appearance flash white, blue, white, blue. She is wreathed in darkness, standing taller than Ginny had ever or would ever be. The tendrils of shifting shadow flicker over her black robe clad body, making her part of the shadows, rather than merely hiding in them. It fingers through her hair, twisting, plaiting and teasing, making her look like she had a head full of blood red Medusa snakes.

She smiles. It is a terrifying thing to behold. Her eyes are glinting with some emotion so terrible it can not be named and her lips - too red, too red - look wrong on her chinless face. The lips thin and stretch, revealing a line of perfectly round, pearl white teeth that seem to glow _green_. Her tongue flicks out, so quickly it might have been Ginny's imagination, but it leaves a ting spot of dampness on her lips that also seems to glow that haunting, familiar, soul-light green.

'Ginny,' she sings, her voice not raspy and hoarse like it should be, not childish and patronising like Bellatrix's had been. It is the voice of someone telling a scary story during a sleepover party or in an effort to scare a sibling - calling the other child's name in two, long, drawn out syllables that seem to echo even if the room is fully carpeted. Two, haunting notes that do wonders to scaring young children the world over.

'I'm not scared of you,' Ginny says, even though both she and this other her know that it is a lie. Were it simply a scary story, like her brothers had told over and over, she would laugh it off with no second thoughts. But this was _real_. This was someone who wanted to kill her and would stop at nothing to do so and she was inside her head. Suddenly the killer dolly that could not be thrown away and the garden gnomes that would come and chop a bit of the child off, '_centimetre cubed by centimetre cubed'_ did not seem so bad.

The older, serpentine her, does not falter, smile firmly in place and horrifically genuine. 'Ginny,' she sings again. 'I'm coming to get you!' She does not _step_ but seems to _flow_ closer and closer and Ginny can not move, though she struggles to. The shadows are smothering her but she can not move, can not think; only remember the jade eyed boy with the unjaded mind and lightning bolt scar who loved her more than she deserved.

Darkness.

* * *

Tom woke with the indisputable knowledge that he was not in the same place that he had fallen asleep in. He remembered… killing. His father, so close in visage and figure to himself: death by smile. The wife - blonde, plastic, killed swiftly, painlessly with an Avada Kedava. He hadn't even watched. Then there had been a boy - again, he could easily have been mistaken for Tom at his age. Going home and talking - saying the wrong things. Then an ache in his chest that he couldn't now recognise anymore than he did then. Then talking, reconciling, and sleeping, faces tucked into shoulders and hands and fingers and legs entangled.

But there was no weight on him anymore. Ginny, his wonderful, beautiful Ginny, was gone. And he wasn't on the couch, either. It was then that Tom realised it was not Ginny, but _he_ who was gone. This thought process took no more than a second and immediately Tom's already half-closed eyes snapped completely shut and he regulated his breathing to make it as even as possible.

'Too late, Thomas, darling,' a voice said. It was, on the whole, unfamiliar, but there was a ring to the undertone that stirred some kind of recognition in Tom. Her - for it was a her - address of him, however, was strange. Although his half-brother had revealed his full name to be _Thomas_ Richard Riddle, Tom was simply that; 'Tom'. He was not the kind to allow others - save, perhaps, Ginny - to shorten his name. 'I know you're awake,' the voice continued.

Slowly he opened his eyes to find himself staring up at the clear sky dispersed with various floating candles and the faint outline of stone columns - he was in the Great Hall of Hogwarts? Turning his head he saw a flash of dark red hair and mahogany eyes and a chinless face.

The face had changed since he had last seen it - there was a little less chin and the veins and arteries beneath the surface of the skin were just a little more visible. And this version of Ginevra was… darker, redder, than ever before. More _wrong_, more unnatural.

Tom sat quickly, ignoring the sudden dizziness that struck him as he moved his head, and reaching for his pockets in search of his wand.

'Tut, tut,' the monster said. 'Do you really think me so silly as to leave you your wand? Even your Ginny was faster than that.'

Tom didn't react. His Slytherin mask, so often forgotten around his little family, was all too easy for him to pull back into place. 'When it comes to dealing with one such as you one can never be too careful,' he said simply, wishing dearly that Ginny had taught him, too, how to do magic without a wand.

'One such as me? Oh, I suppose you'll know all about that. But that version of myself was nothing like I am now.'

_Was?_ As in past tense? Tom blinked the thought away. Ginny had gone once, who was to say that she hadn't gone again? He could cope. He had to. The unwilling images of Hagrid welled up in his mind, followed soon by the plain white stretcher, covered with a plain white sheet; the only thing visible a hand lolling out over the side. White as death because he had allowed death to take her. To take the stupid little Hufflepuff.

'She's all better now though,' that honeyed, horrible voice almost sang at him, and stepped aside.

What Tom saw chilled him to the bone.

Ginny wasn't dead. Oh, far from it. She was sitting on one of the long house benches with her hands neatly folded in her lap and her back, if he could have seen it, would probably be bullet-straight. Her hair was bunched back from her face and shoulders and Tom could see clearly the white lines glowing across her skin.

A circle etched with arcane symbols on her forehead and both of her cheeks, joined together by a larger circle that enclosed all of her features. Tom knew what it meant immediately - a ritual that he'd seen in one of the books in the restricted section of the library. _I see what you see, I feel what you feel, I know what you know. You are mine_.

The spell was an ancient one used by task masters on their slaves to assure loyalty and good work. But the bearers of such markings could be forced to do any number of things; whilst the Imperius curse could be thrown off, this could not. Imperio was merely a spell, a binding of magic loosened by the air between master and follower. This - this was marked, scarred into the skin. There was no breaking it; neither through strength of self, nor by wish of both parties.

'Until death do us part,' Ginny - the older - said. 'My little puppet, all tied up in string. Isn't it lovely?'

'Fuck you,' Tom said, perfectly calmly, keeping the sudden ache at bay.

The serpentine woman regarded him a moment before turning her back on both teens and walking slowly towards the teachers' table. She seemed to almost float over the floor, and Tom wouldn't put it past her. She reached the podium where the headmaster always greeted the new year and made announcements, when they were to be had. She ran one finger over the gold filigree caressingly.

'The world, dear Thomas, is not as you perceive it to be,' she paused, then, obviously expecting some kind of response, when Tom gave her none she continued. 'Your darling half brother was quite the little hero when it came to defending you, as was the filthy little muggleborn girl who called you brother. But they died in silent torture, as you and Miss Princess slept soundly on.'

Tom refused to look at her, his gaze only on the girl sitting opposite him. She tilted her head towards him and her lips curved, ever so slightly, before she continued the mutated Ginny's speech in the same, disgustingly sweet voice.

'Have you ever wondered, sweet, why I loved you?' the girl asked. 'Why I loved you when I knew what you would be, what you would do,' her voice lowered to a whisper and she leant conspiratorially across the table, Tom automatically leaned forward, too, 'who you would kill.' Then she leant back and laughed a wonderful, whole hearted laugh that told of more than a twisted soul. 'Your power! Just like Harry, your power is bristling! We are not so different, you and I. Lusting for nothing but power, consequences be damned. But I'm stronger than you will ever be. Stronger because I am not afraid to do what must be done.'

Tom gazed at her for a moment, his broken heart fluttering desperately in the cavity of his chest, searching for some kind of answer - an impossible resolution to an entirely too real reality. Then he shut it off. _Impossible_. There was no way out. His posture shifted and straightened, his eyes hardening and cutting off the world, his Slytherin mask falling effortlessly into place.

He blinked his cold grey eyes once. Then he stood with the utmost solemnity and self-assurance. The younger Ginny - his Ginny - turned her face up to him. Tom offered his hand and she took it as he pulled her into standing position. He took her lightly in his arms, his lips resting by her ear and his whisper was so soft it barely stirred the stray strands of hair caught there.

'_She sees what you see. She feels what you feel. She knows what you know. But you are not hers. She is you, you are your own. You are _mine_.'_

Then Tom slid his dagger out of his sleeve and between Ginny's ribs.

The ginger haired girl gasped, blood bubbling up and choking her as she clutched her side and fell to the floor. The elder Ginny's anger flared, but she said and did nothing.

'The songbird has stopped singing, Ginny,' Tom told the girl curled up in a pool of her own blood. 'My little birdie ran out of tunes to sing. Would you like to hear what she told me?'

The wretched, blood soaked eighteen year old managed to nod through her pain, still controlled by her older self.

Tom crouched down beside her and pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, smearing the blood covering her chin over her cheek and forehead. Softly Tom started humming a haunting, melodic tune that floated around the vast hall, words slowly forming on his tongue. Neither of the Ginnys recognised either tune or words, but it hung in the air like pain between the three of them, the memory forever carved into every stone and window of the great room.

The song ended softly, less like a begging plea and more like a last goodbye. Then Tom reached once more to Ginny's cheek and smeared her blood over that cheek, too. Suddenly those chocolate eyes cleared into an astonishingly sharp gaze, then her hands came up and scratched frantically at her eyes, blunt nails digging into the eyeballs and drawing out. Tom grabbed her wrists to try and stop her, but it was too late; the girl took one last gasping breath before her eyelids flickered closed over bloodied eyes.

'You killed her,' The older Ginny said, her expression somewhere between bemusement and irritation.

'I love her,' Tom replied, as if it explained everything.

Ginny sighed and almost floated towards him, her thin, gnarled hand cupping his cheek and Tom barely refrained from shuddering away from her touch. 'Loved, my darling,' she said. 'Past tense. She is dead.'

Tom turned emotionless grey eyes up to his nemesis, expression suddenly pitying. 'You just don't get it, do you? Ginny is dead, but do I love her any less for it? I will not see her again, but she is still in my heart, as long as I remember her I will love her.'

Merciless anger spewed from nowhere as the monster before Tom screeched in uncontrolled rage. Her words were inaudible, but tumbled like unbounded water from her mouth, poisoning the air that had, moments before, been filled with only pain.

Finally she calmed enough to be understood. 'Stupid boy! Were she still here, she'd hate you! You killed her stone dead to save your own worthless skin!'

Tom surprised her then by chuckling softly, the sound pitying and condescending. 'Were she still here I wouldn't have killed her stone dead, now would I? But I did and she isn't, so what are you worrying your empty little head about?'

It was foolish, really, baiting this twisted, barely human _thing_ before him, but it was so tempting and Tom had nothing to lose. If this monster was to be understood his half brother and pseudo-sister were as dead as the still warm corpse at his feet. The feeling of emptiness and pointlessness left Tom feeling reckless.

It also was sending him into a high that he could not recall ever reaching before, at least not like this. He was untied, free. His actions would have no unwanted side-effects on people he cared about - everyone he had ever cared for, people he'd only just met - were dead! He could do anything, anything at all and he knew, right then, that no one could stop him.

Magical power swept in waves over his skin, arousing him and cutting through his sanity to that layer of madness he had hidden deep within his soul. He'd been protected by Ginny, ever since she'd entered his life at Christmas. But now this bitch had taken the protection away. And it wasn't protecting him, oh no. Ginny had been protecting the world. And, from the looks of it, the monster thought she could control it, could control him. But love was as much a madness as hatred and Tom had loved his Ginny to the point of insanity.

Blistering heat filled him and he became the devil opposite of the avenging angel Ginny had been. Cloaked in darkness so thick it drew the light from around him, he plunged the candle-lit hall into shadows. His eyes did not go slit-like or turn red, the scene all the more terrifying for his undeniable humanity. Face like carved stone cool grey eyes regarded the scene before him like they were made of flint.

Underneath the darkness you could make out the outline of the sharp suit he was wearing, not a scratch or tear in sight, but dripping in blood that was none of it his own and glittered eerily. His hands were unclenched, loose by his sides, one hand cradling his wand.

All Tom needed were horns and he might have been Lucifer himself, the phrase 'handsome as hell' given an entirely new meaning.

'What are you doing?' the monster asked, her eyes narrowed even more as she gazed at him suspiciously.

Tom's lips curved up into a tiny, compelling smile. 'Whatever I want to.' Stalking forward he thrust the hand not holding his wand up at the monster's neck, holding her above him with comparative ease, since she had no chin to speak of. The scene was scarily reminiscent to one several months earlier in which he'd held _his_ Ginny up in a similar fashion.

'Put me down,' it hissed.

Tom through back his head and cackled madly, speaking to no one, 'she kills all I care for and dares to presume _she_ can order _me_ around!' Suddenly he was staring directly into its eyes, gaze so intense it seemed to be burning - though with what was uncertain. 'You share a bit of your past with my Ginny, but you are not her.' All humour was gone as he spoke in a venomous monotone. 'Once you shared her feelings, her thoughts, without a spell. Now you don't even share the same face. She toys with the fate of the world, but you _burn_ it. You have the audacity to play God, but you're nothing but a lost little girl with a broken mind and a dangerous toy.'

It looked down at Tom with mahogany eyes that were almost… proud? 'But what a toy, my darling. What a toy! I can feel your magic make love to me as you glare and spit, but you are mine, more than Ginny was, even at the bitter end.'

Tom glared some more, but since words did not seem to be forth coming it continued.

'You can not kill me, darling. You can not kill me because it is not possible for you to do so. Your fingers may squeeze and your dagger may draw blood, but nothing more than that. It is in your _programming_.'

Next moment, the monster was sprawled on the floor, Tom keeping her down with his body and his knife pressed to her throat. 'Sometimes, _darling_,' he snarled, 'a tiny nick is all you need to kill.' The knife tip moved to the pulsing, vulnerable jugular vein in the monster's neck, swelling at each beat of her startlingly calm heart.

But then he froze. Tom found he could move the blade to and from the skin, but in that spot, and that spot alone, he could not break the skin.

'You can not kill me,' it taunted him, laughing softly in genuine amusement.

Tom hissed furiously and threw himself bodily away, stalking up and down the hall in a rage, until he came to an abrupt stop when he was perfectly in line with Ginny's body. He almost laughed. Oh, she was brilliant. Her eyes, her beautiful, chocolate brown eyes that would never see anything ever again.

_I no longer see what you see._

Just as she was on the brink of death the connection spell had been broken. As with any wizarding bond the connection would always break at the point in which there was no return from death, less the other in the bond died too.

_I no longer feel what you feel._

But the bond was ancient; older than the hills and perhaps as old as Merlin himself. The medical abilities of the time must have been less efficient than the current day. Ginny had been so busy fighting the monster in her head she hadn't realised that significance until the bond had been broken.

_I no longer know what you know._

The only part of the bond that would stand until the last breath was drawn, the last pulse of the heart beaten, was that of the sight. And that had been why Ginny had clawed out her own eyes, even when Tom believed she had achieved her right mind. Then, brilliant, fantastic, genius Ginny had staged her own death. Like the fools they were Tom and the monster had believed - truly believed! - that Ginny would die that easily. That the depletion of her magic was the power slowly flowing from her body.

Only now, from his new vantage point, with a clear view of the pulse beating ferociously at Ginny's throat did Tom understand. Ginny's magic, that had seemed like it was fading, was in fact turning inward, healing her. Tom pushed his mind back to this very room, after the first time he had stabbed Ginny. She had sat there, happy as could be like there was nothing at all the matter, but her magic had been seriously drained.

Tom drew the dagger out of his sleeve. Twice this simple metal blade had plunged through skin and flesh, sliding between bones that were Ginny's. Twice it had nearly ended her life. Running a finger down the now-enchanted blade, Tom understood. Painfully real memories made present. And that was how killing Ginny had saved her life. And his too, probably.

'What do you want from me?' Tom asked the monster, his head bowed and the darkness wrapping around his throat and through his hair, caressing with long, cool fingers that sent a thrill of forbidden excitement run down his veins.

The monster had, at some point, pulled itself up from the floor where it had been left and was now sat, casually, on the Staff table. 'Everything,' it replied simply. 'Your mind, your soul, your power and everything the three combined, with my own, can achieve.'

'Nothing, then,' Tom said, smirking openly now. 'Don't you know by now that I am nothing? I am intelligent, but nothing remarkable. I have no heart and my soul is scarred beyond anything resembling sane. My power can not be controlled. And mix that in with yourself and it would not be the beginning of your foretold golden future. It would be the end. The two of together would be the apocalypse.'

'And doesn't that just thrill you? To be the ender of all things - what glory there would be!'

'Glory?' Tom snorted. 'Everyone - including us - would be dead. What glory is there in being the only coward left alive?'

It hissed, 'I am not a coward!'

'Oh no,' Tom said patronisingly. 'Of _course_ not.' The smirk was back, accentuating the thick sarcasm in his tone. 'I was actually referring to myself, but I think I prefer your translation.'

The monster snarled like a wild cat, stalking towards him like he had become the prey.

Losing Ginny and then having her back again, then losing her again and now… Now Ginny was lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood, but alive. Could the monster moving closer to him sense Ginny's magic build? Could it feel the prickle of fury-driven magic? Could it taste the sudden tang in the air that was salty sweet - an all too familiar bloodlust. But this time it was specified bloodlust and this time it wasn't Tom's.

'Don't you feel it?' the beautiful voice of the hideous face asked. 'That electricity in the air? That's us, Thomas, darling. That's what we are together? How can you not sense it?'

Tom didn't know what 'electricity' was, but the irony of the situation did not escape him. Oh, it was an 'us'. It was even Tom and Ginny. But it was not Tom and the monster that now pressed itself against him, claiming that she, too, was called Ginny.

'I sense it,' Tom whispered tauntingly back. 'But it is not you.'

'Not me,' it agreed. 'Us.'

The monster was pressed completely against Tom now, the anger it had felt mere moments ago having dissipated completely. Tom tried to take a step away from the repulsive creature, but it latched onto him, its arms wrapping around him like iron bands holding him in place. Then it pressed its mouth down on his, tongue pressing past thin lips and demanding entrance, teeth drawing blood when Tom did not open to this unwelcome intruder.

Then, next second, the monster was sprawled over the floor a good five metres away.

'Tsk. Did you not know that I'm a jealous little bitch?' Ginny said disparagingly. Her face was covered in blood that Tom had smeared there, and her hair was half up, half down, but the slave bond marks were gone. Her eyelids kept fluttering - as if expecting to be able to reveal healthy eyes beneath - and kept showing the bloody masses beneath. It was a terrible sight, but it didn't seem to stop the vindictive grin or the teasing tone.

'You're dead!' the monster spluttered, trying to get its bearings.

Ginny's grin grew to cover her entire face. 'Really?' she asked in a childishly excited tone. 'Does that make you God, then?'

Tom listened to this with unabashed awe, ignoring the confusion that nagged at the back of his mind - God? Where _was_ Ginny going with this?

'Because, you see, if you are, there are a couple of things I'd like to ask.'

Tom glanced across at where the monster was regaining its footing, a furious expression welded across its face.

'First up: Seriously? What the _fuck_ were you thinking? You made the human race, surely you know if you tell someone not to something under any circumstances _what-so-ever_ that is _exactly_ what they're going to do? And then you chuck us out of Heaven because we followed the nature that you made for us.

'Next: Eve. Adam and Eve. You named the first two people on Earth Adam and Eve. No offence, but they are really bad names. Was their last name Smith? I bet it was. And what was-'

'SHUT UP!' the monster roared, looking less human than it ever had. 'I am not God! Stop asking pointless, inane questions!'

Ginny jumped up and down twice on the spot, clapping her hands together and swinging around to face Tom. 'Did you hear that?' she squealed, making Tom wonder whether the pressure of being almost killed and draining her magic to save herself whilst battling herself inside her head and tearing her own eyes out had finally driven Ginny mad. 'Straight from the horse's mouth,' she continued. 'She isn't God!'

Oh. _Oh_. Well. Not mad then.

Ginny turned back to the monster who had once looked like herself and this time when she spoke there was nothing sarcastic, childish or teasing at all in her tone. This time when she spoke she was being utterly serious. 'You said yourself you are not God. Now turn and leave before I loose my head and kill you for shits and giggles.'

The monster didn't even reply as it raised its wand and a spark blood red burst forward.

Tom winced, without his wand he was useless, and it was clear that Ginny didn't have her wand either. Her magic was seriously depleted, but Ginny didn't even have to raise a hand to stop the red spell from reaching her. The spark of light flashed and faded in the millisecond that it was in the air.

'_Crucio_,' the monster tried, another burst of magic escaping her wand, but again, the pulse flashed and died before it reached its target. '_CRUCIO!_' It screeched, but it made no difference, the spell died before it hit Ginny.

As for Ginny herself, she was just standing there, head slightly bowed as if in submission, and a tiny smile gracing her features. A freckled hand reached up and tugged her hair free, the band holding it in place falling to the floor and, somehow, sucking into itself every drop of blood still staining the stonework. The curtain of thick, honey red hair his Ginny's face well, but even the monster could see that Ginny was not exerting herself. Brought herself back to life, stopped an unforgivable spell not once but three times, but not exerting herself.

'You were stupid, you know. To bring us here,' Ginny said, raising her head slightly.

'Stupid?' the monster hissed. '_Stupid_?'

Ginny grinned. 'Tom, in the British Isles, where would you say is the most magical place? After Stonehenge, of course.'

And then Tom grinned. 'Hogwarts,' he replied easily, lowering himself onto a nearby bench gracefully and running a hand through his hair. 'Although some say there's a natural spring somewhere along the south-east coast of Ireland.'

'We'll have to check that out some time,' Ginny said, smiling suggestively. 'Could be fun.'

Given the situation Tom was surprised at how quickly he perked up at the suggestion. He'd never had much of a chance to travel, and touring the magical sights of the British Isles sounded an _awful _lot of fun, especially if he went with Ginny. After all, the word 'spring' had several different, interesting, meanings. He smirked back and tried not to let his mind wander.

'Tom is mine!' the monster snarled, successfully cutting off the shared fantasy both Tom and Ginny seemed to be having.

'No, hon, Tom is mine,' Ginny corrected. Her eyelids finally stopped flickering and stayed fully shut, her head cocking as she turned to face the monster.

'What's so important about being at Hogwarts, anyway?' it hissed.

Ginny seemed to consider the monster before her for a moment before answering. 'Dumbledore has been giving me private lessons, don't you know?' she grinned cockily at Tom who struggled not to snigger. 'Interesting fellah. Completely barmy, of course, but has odd words or two that come in handy. First thing he taught me was how to see without using my eyes. Given my current situation-' here Ginny sighed dramatically, eyes opening fully to reveal eyeballs that had completely healed over, now. Instead of the dark red they had been before they were plain white, with a single, thin black circle the only marker of where her irises had once been. '-is quite lucky, no?

'Second up, and really rather fascinating, was the fact that certain witches and wizards with the right… _insight_… into the world, can draw any pliable magic from the surroundings.'

Tom didn't hold back his laughter this time at Ginny's terminology. If it had been him, he would have been distraught over the loss of his sight, but the more Ginny spoke the more he understood that Ginny hadn't lost her sight, per se, merely gained a new outlook on life.

'So, you see, bringing a person like me to a place like this really wasn't you smartest idea. And you can drop the glamour now, hon. I can see what your projecting, but I can also the 'real' world.'

The monster once again snarled something incomprehensible and the surroundings started to fade. Disorientated Tom shut his eyes for a long moment in the vague hope that maybe, just maybe, when he woke up again it would all be a nightmare and he'd still be curled up on the couch wrapped up in Ginny's arms.

Tom felt a warmth behind him and almost started, until he recognised the body pressing against his back.

'A word to the wise, sweet,' Ginny said so softly he almost missed it, 'don't look down.'

Hesitantly Tom opened his eyes and, following Ginny's advice, did not look down. Other than that he took in immediate stock of his surroundings. The monster was still standing five metres away, snarling and bristling, but other than that it seemed nothing was the same.

The room glowed soul-green from lights that could not be seen, and the walls, even parts of the ceiling, were covered in bookshelves upon bookshelves - bookshelves that seemed to be unnaturally far away. Tom recognised this place. After visiting the room regularly for almost an entire year it was hard not to. 'Salazar's study,' he whispered.

Remembering Ginny's words from earlier Tom realised that Ginny, when she said not to look down, was inviting him, in a teasing way, to do exactly that. Her arms were tight around his middle, her cheek pressed against the muscle between his shoulder blades and her breathing even.

It was only when he looked down that Tom came to the understanding that he wasn't actually _standing_ on anything.

'Gin?' he asked quietly.

'Hmm?'

'We're not standing on much, are we?' Translated: how the-?? What the-?? Okaaaay.

Ginny giggled, her arms tightening. 'No, not really,' she responded. 'You're… the soul light's going to start affecting you in a minute, is that alright?'

Tom frowned and tried to remember what happened when the soul light 'affected' him. It was hard - although he remembered this room and the meetings here it was not with the usual clarity in which he remembered important things. It was frustrating having his mind fucked with like this, but after a year he had grown… not _used_ to it, exactly. Resigned to it, was a better way of putting it.

'Just get me to solid ground,' he muttered. 'I don't fancy you floating two of me.'

Ginny swallowed and started hesitantly, 'Tom… this is Salazar's private study.'

'Hmm?'

'And Salazar was a sneaky, paranoid little fellow who trusted no one.'

'Where are you going with this?' Tom asked, getting a little tired of Ginny's beating around the bush.

'Are you seriously telling me you think that any of this floor is real?'

'Oh.'

'Hmm.'

It should hurt, really, splitting into two different people. There was a spell, somewhere, that allowed a powerful wizard or witch to create a doppelganger of themselves or another close to them, but it was a lengthy, strenuous process that was in no sense safe. The majority of people who had attempted it had ended up killing themselves, either from over exerting their magical energy, killing both themselves and the doppelganger, or by getting over confident and spending too much time as two people, ultimately resulting in their demise.

The soul light, however, was something completely different. 'Soul light' was the colloquial term for a name so horrendously long and unpronounceable that no one could really remember what it was. Soul light was something that could not be created; it, like diamond, had to be found. The comparison to diamond was a good one - there were various types of magic, the most common of which was 'people magic' this was the type of magic that witches, wizards and even muggles had. They were born to it and grew into it; manipulating it and wielding it. People magic was the magic that people could control.

Then there was 'wild magic', something all children fling about when they are little. It was also the source of nature's magic - the magic that influenced werewolves as the moon grew full, the static that filled the atmosphere before a huge storm, that muggles mistook for electricity. The force behind volcanoes and the swell of the sea. There were other, innumerable types of magic; elvish, gnomic, giant, seers', goblin… the list went on and on, but the last of the three most common magicks is soul magic.

Soul magic came in springs across the world, but it was endless. Unlike the muggles' oil it did not run out; once a spring or well was found it would not end, but constantly supply the owner with soul magic. And the owner only. Soul magic was like a cross between the other two main types; it was wild, it belonged to no one in particular, yet it lay dormant unless manipulated by a vessel (whether the vessel was human, centaur, elven, etc, did not matter).

And the wonderful, magnificent, terrible thing was that this particular spring of soul magic belonged to Hogwarts, it's founders, ghosts, elves, teachers, pictures, gargoyles, hidden rooms, passageways, staircases, ceilings and students alike. And Hogwarts could not differentiate between the two Ginnys. And so leant itself willingly to one of it's ex-pupils wills.

And the soul light, only apparent in the most abundant of springs, was a terrible thing, much as it was amazing. Soul light could allow you to look to the heart of someone, to see the doubts in their very soul, their weaknesses, their strengths and, if you had the power to do so, it allowed you to split that weakness, that soul, that person, into two. It was not a permanent thing, like the Horcruxes, but it was enough to seriously disorientate the receiver and it gave the offender a deep insight into the flaws of character in the other.

Tom was split into two every time he came to this room, under that green, magical light. This time, however, he quickly, effortlessly, with next to no pain, split into not two, but three different people.

The floor that was not a floor decided, for some reason, to form over under all of them, allowing Ginny to set herself and the splitting Tom onto the ground. She was wary of the floor disappearing again, but it seemed unlikely that that would happen.

Once the split – like the refraction of light through glass – was complete Ginny realised that she recognised two of them, they were the ones she had seen before. One was the cold, cynical Tom and the other the warmer, sarcastic yet somehow kindly teasing Tom.

The last did not come as a surprise as she had recognised him in Tom before, but had never seen her as a constant. It was the blood lust in him. The first part of him that had become the monster's. It was the part in Tom that could be surprised, but not forgotten. The part that had murdered his father and step-mother. The part that coolly calculated murder. The part without a conscience.

All this took place within a split second and, when the change was done, all the Toms turned expectantly to Ginny.

'Tom?' she asked softly, moon white eyes flicking from one to the next.

'It's alright, Gin,' one answered.

'Don't worry, Ginevra,' the next said.

'How can you see us?' the last, the murderous one, asked.

Ginny grinned. It was like having three brothers again. 'I know, I won't,' she told the first two, before the grin turned into a smirk as she faced the last question. 'Are you listening, Ginny?' she asked. 'Your little Tommy wants to know how I can see without eyes. Do you want to know?' Her voice was mildly patronising, almost as if she couldn't be bothered to put any real effort into goading her enemy, as if it wasn't worth it.

The monster nodded once, trying to keep the eagerness from its eyes.

'I can't,' Ginny replied. 'I can't see a damn thing. Irritating, that, isn't it?'

One of the Toms chuckled lightly, eyes flashing with some unnameable emotion and causing the monster before them to get _really_ angry.

'Stop fooling around!' it snarled ferociously in Ginny's direction.

'Oh but I like fooling around, don't I, Tom?' Ginny replied rhetorically, dropping a wink over her shoulder at the three versions of her boyfriend.

The monster hissed a curse at Ginny's turned head and, for a split second, it seemed as though time itself had stopped. The bright blue-purple pulse of the curse hung like a frozen shooting star heading straight towards the back of Ginny's head, the girl still smirking from her joke. The monster's face was twisted into a malevolent expression somewhere between crunched up in a snarl and stretched into a smirk.

Then the world started again and watched expectantly for the curse to crash into Ginny's head. The only problem being with this that Ginny's head suddenly wasn't _there_ anymore. The curse passed harmlessly onwards, continuing towards the floor that opened helpfully and swallowed it. Then the air was alight with three different pulses of magic and the monster was knocked backwards to the floor.

Ginny was crouched down, head bowed and hair masking whatever emotion might have been on her face. She had one leg bent beneath her, the other stretched out to the side as a balance. Both hands were fists down to the floor, as though she'd punched it when she ducked from the curse, rather than using her hands to steady herself.

'Coward,' Ginny said, flicking her hair back over her shoulder. 'You are never what I will be.'

'But I am what you could have been,' the monster hissed back, its dark red eyes glinting.

The magic hung in the air was palpable in that moment, singing it's terrible song for all that cared to listen.

'I am you in a way more real than you are yourself,' the monster continued, revelling in the way Ginny winced away from the words. 'I am what you become when you give in to temptation for just a single moment. I am your personally deadly sin.' It cackled madly. 'Who needs seven when you have me, _dear Ginevra_?'

The monster was practically slithering across the floor towards Ginny, it's head on the same level as hers, in spite of the fact the monster had not actively bent over.

'I know what you know,' it hissed, face by her ear and stirring the strands of hair there, like she and Tom and had whispered to each other, so many times in the passed. Then the monster leant even forwards and traced the shell of Ginny's ear with it's strangely pointed tongue, drawing a thick line of saliva down Ginny's neck, producing a reaction so opposite to the one Tom's similar ministrations would have alluded to.

Ginny's head bowed again as she tried to keep her body from moving in anyway, her entire being concentrated in not reacting, her body radiating the sudden increase in tension. Ginny so longed to jump away and swipe away the monster's spit, cleaning it several times with charms, water and, hopefully, Tom. Instead she stayed in her crouched position on the floor, face crinkled in the effort it took.

Suddenly Ginny realised what it must have been like for Harry to be touched by Voldemort. '_Pure torture_,' he'd said. It was different in many ways, as Ginny wasn't being physically hurt in anyway, but the implications, the nearly overwhelming desire to get as far away from that enemy as possible, as soon as possible, was the same.

Ginny needed to do something - change into something that this monster wouldn't want to even approach, let alone _lick_. That's when Ginny stood slowly and, as she'd practiced, collapsed her body in on itself. As soon as she had turned into her Animagus form she concentrated on dulling the iridescent shine of her scales and slithering - disappearing - into the background.

_Ginny?_ Three voices hissed in Parseltongue.

Ginny, as much as a snake could, grinned to herself. _Tom, sweet,_ she replied in a teasing tone.

'Where is she?' the monster snarled to the surliest version of Tom.

'Right under your nose,' he replied, receiving a nasty stinging hex for his effort.

'You are mine!' it almost shouted, terrible voice almost painful in the echoing cavern.

'I am hers,' three voices echo back, mock obediently. On some instinctive level Ginny knew that the trained response - the answer that was expected by the monster was 'I am yours'. It was but a little victory, but it was something.

Ginny was somewhat amused to notice that in her snake form any injuries sustained in human form did not carry over - or, at least, she didn't think so, judging from the fact that her eyes worked. But, then, a snake's vision was mostly sensed through the vibrations in the air, picked up through its tongue.

_Be ready_, Ginny hissed softly before she unfurled herself.

There was nothing particularly impressive about Ginny. She was shorter than most, but not very small. She was not impossibly skinny, nor was she over weight. The air did not crackle with possibilities around her, but it still had the familiar hum of magic. Her grades were, agreeably, above average and her wit sharper than most, but it was presented in such a lazy, uncaring way that it often escaped anyone's noticed until the crucial moment had passed.

Standing before this monster she might have become Ginny seemed abnormally normal. She was relaxed, her wand still sticking out of her back pocket and bruised hands dangling easily by her sides. Her eyes were shut in what would appear to be over confidence and her weight was shifted on to one leg, her hip jutting out. Her relaxation in face of the monster was incredible.

And, to Tom, surprisingly erotic.

When the air exploded once more with magic and both versions of Ginny were ducking and weaving in a garish dance of death, sparks of curses and hexes shooting through the air, all three versions of Tom unconsciously licked their lips. As they moved as one the bodies slid together and those three, so different parts of Tom were, once again, united.

_Nagini,_ he hissed, Ginny grinning around a dark blue spell as she recognised the word, even in the snake tongue.

'Tom,' she replied, her blind eyes looking directly at him. A soft smile lit her face and made moon white eyes glow.

Ginny took Tom's hand and span both of them to side as three hexes flashed through the space they'd been standing moments before.

And, in that moment, the fight took on a whole other meaning.

The monster stood in the centre of the room snarling and spitting out curses and hexes left right and centre, the occasional unforgivable unrecognisable in the rainbow of colours. As each spell missed the targets the monster grew angrier and angrier and let off more spells faster and faster, the words and thoughts merging into one and creating new, more terrible spells without effort or thought - it was terrifyingly incredible.

And if Tom had thought the duel looked like a dance before he had been mistaken. He and Ginny span around the floor in a complex pattern as they bowed, span, side stepped, dipped and jumped their way from spell to spell without being hit by a single one. It was a deadly dance of risk and chance that the couple excelled at, drawing from the strengths of each other, both leading and following when their time came.

But this constant state of step, slide, turn, do the unpredictable and never stop moving could not be held forever, the duelling dance reaching a terrible crescendo when Tom span Ginny one last time and bowed her back so far her head almost grazed the ground. Then her head raised and her lips crashed into his, lending him the final push of strength and knowledge he needed to knock their adversary of its feet.

Their hips ground together and Ginny dropped her head back again, back arching to press herself closer - _closer_. Tom devoured her inviting neck and thrust against her once, twice, three times. One of Ginny's hands cupped the curve of his backside, the other trailing fingertips from his chin, down his neck and past his naval.

'Tom,' she said, so softly he almost missed it.

'Love you,' he replied to her neck, knowing the sentiment she had not voiced and returning it.

Then he straightened, pulling her upright with him. He kissed her again, all teeth and tongue and wonderful heat before they let one another go and turned to the monster prostrate at their feet.

The hideous figure, once proud despite its ugliness tried in vain to pull itself into a standing, or at least sitting position. Its eyes, once dark crimson that gleamed with malicious glee or infuriated anger were now dull and once again just a normal brown. It's hair had lost all colour, grey curls flopping hopelessly against too thin shoulders and neck. Lips and nose and widened and thickened, returning to their usual proportions, a half-hearted sneer not quite reaching its eyes.

The darkness that had once cloaked the figure had receded quickly, disgusted by its host's weakness and leaving plain black, torn and patched robes that even at his most needy Remus had not been reduced to wearing them. What a sad state of affairs when a pureblood witch wore worse robes than a half blooded werewolf.

Ginny stepped forward and knelt by the figure, close but not touching. Tom took two steps back, watching the interaction with interest.

'Oh, Ginny,' Ginny sighed, head bowed as a sudden wave of empathy struck her. 'Could you not see? We've seen a teen age boy fight a Dark Lord win, seen people raped and tortured, heard people scream for their lives, seen unadulterated love directed as us. Compared to that, what are we?'

The monster finally managed to raise its stricken face and Tom suddenly realised with a pang that the monster was no longer that; was no longer an 'it'. This was a lost, confused old lady driven mad by her own history and isolation.

'There's so much out there, Ginny,' Ginny continued in the same soft voice. 'There are so many people and lives and love and, somehow, you managed to miss it all, didn't you? You forgot what it was like to be held; to be loved.'

'I've never been loved,' a cracked voice replied, broken and aged and totally unrecognisable to the dulcet tones of earlier.

'Harry loved you,' Ginny said. 'When we were one and the same, he loved you.'

'No, he loved _you_. I am not that girl anymore,' the broken voice contradicted.

Ginny did not even try to argue against that.

'I just wanted to matter.' Tom realised with horror that the monster - no, the old lady - had started to cry. 'I just wanted to do something - be someone. I don't want to be a nobody dying in a backstreet with no more than a stub of rock to commemorate my life. I wanted… I wanted to live.'

Ginny hugged the lady hard, the two figures of the same person on different, yet intertwined timelines clutching one another desperately. 'I know,' Ginny whispered, '_I know_.'

Tom felt awkward and out of place in his position standing over the two women, so he made to step around them. Maybe he'd talk to Salazar, tell him what had happened. Perhaps he'd help him get a few if his many issues sorted out.

It was as he made his way around the back of the old lady that he saw the deadly glint of a sharpened blade - directed towards Ginny's - his Ginny's - heart.

'Ginny!' he yelled, jumping towards them.

'I know,' the girl whispered, as the blade held by her older self twisted down.

It was another one of those awful moments when time seemed to stop, the details of the situation far too sharp and far too impossible to escape.

Tom didn't even see the flash of green, not with the soul light that filled the room. But the blade stopped millimetres from Ginny's skin, already tearing a hole through her shirt. The already duller eyes of the enemy suddenly as flat as a fish's as the body slumped and the first tear escaped Ginny's sightless eyes.

'I know,' she whispered brokenly, rocking the corpse that she still hugged tightly. 'I know and I'm so,_ so_ sorry.'

She pressed a kiss to the lady's forehead and then stood shakily, letting the body go completely. Tom rushed straight to her side, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her upright. She looked mournfully up at him and, in that moment, Tom knew that his Ginny would never become what the monster had been. She simply cared far too much.

She hugged the front of his shirt and wept against him, Tom simply standing and being, his arms loose around her. She didn't say anything and nor did he - neither needed to. He simply offered the comfort he knew she needed and she took it without question, accepting it with a grace that seemed unfathomable at that point in time.

Finally Ginny straightened. She rubbed a hand swiftly across her bloodshot eyes and gave him a weak, watery smile. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough.

'OK?' he asked.

'No,' she replied honestly. 'But I will be.'

'Let's go Ginny. It's over.'

Ginny smiled sadly at him again. 'This battle is won, sweet, but the war for this world is never over.'

_

* * *

_

A/N Woot! Final chapter! Sorry it took longer upload than I'd expected, but this was incredibly difficult chapter to write. And for that, I fear this chapter is not as coherent as usual. If it is I sincerely apologise. I will, one day, read through and revise this story, but until that day I simply can't be bothered.

_The epilogue is coming soon and with it info on a (possible) sequel. Please, please, please let me know if you want a sequel or not. I've been throwing ideas around, but unless you guys actually turn around and say you want more I'm not going to bother. I know this thing is only ten chapters, but they're hellish long!  
__Anyways, I won't say too much more, as my final note will be put at the very end of the story. Until then, please review and tell me what you thought!  
__Much love,  
__Cal  
__xxx_


	11. Snapshots

**_Disclaimer: Harry Potter ™ belongs to JKR and WB. Song Lyrics (Welcome to My Truth) ©Anastacia_**

_**

* * *

**_

Snapshots

It wasn't silent - far from it. The seagulls cawed noisily from the embankments and the air, the occasional sloppy missile splashing into water that otherwise waved softly back and forth, slapping the sides of the boat. Tom tilted his head a little and caught sight of the freckled red head at his side. Her hair was being tugged and teased by the wind and her chocolate eyes sparkled brightly under the light slowly fading to rose.

Their fingers were still entwined, hanging over the bars that they were both leaning against, dangling above the grey waters of the Thames. It was strange, this sweet, tangy headiness that hung in the air. It was almost like being drunk, but with all your senses still intact. Ginny caught his gaze and smiled softly.

Somehow, oddly enough, Tom found that he could smile back.

_Sentimental days _

The Hufflepuff - he couldn't even remember her name - was dead. He didn't need to come any closer to know that. Her skin was icy pale and her eyes were shallow and flat. It was surreal, knowing that he had killed her. Well… indirectly killed her. But, technicalities aside, the fault of this girl's death was entirely his own.

Tom winced, waiting for the realisation to sink in and the guiltiness to take stand. But it never came. A sense of disillusion settled over him and a sensuous thrill filled him from the tips of his toes although way up along every nerve ending until he was shaking with it.

First blood. And in this unreality that had just come true, Tom longed for his second.

_In a misty clouded haze _

His throat was hoarse from screaming. He swore, every time, that he wouldn't scream next time. Wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction. But then he came and it started again, thrust after dry thrust and Tom was howling again, in agony that drove the man harder, faster… crueller.

And, afterwards, the man wouldn't just leave. He had to flaunt and kick and make sure that Tom was fully broken, like a good little lapdog fully house trained. He swore, every time, that he wouldn't break next time. That he'd find his strength from somewhere and fight back and hex those horrible bollocks that he was _far_ too well acquainted with right off.

But he knew that he deserved every single excruciating second.

_Of a memory that now feels untrue _

Tom sat in the armchair with his back ramrod straight, one hand caressing the pages of the book on his lap, the other lying on the arm, gently stroking his wand. It was just another reminder to his classmates that they could act as friendly as they liked towards him, they would never be his friends. He'd never let them close enough.

Those who could get beneath his wall could hurt him, kill him from the inside out, and Tom knew what it was like to die inside. Even here, in the home he'd never had, he could never relax. Never drop his guard, not while the world was watching his every move - the impeccable Slytherin King.

Never let them know that inside he was just a scared, broken, abused little boy.

_I used to feel disguised _

Tom held Ginny's hand tightly as they approached their cottage that had become their home. The monster was still lying in Slytherin's study where they'd left her, too anxious to see whether the accusations were true - she'd claimed to kill them. The only family Tom had, his half-brother and Ginny's adopted sister and they were supposedly lying dead and abandoned.

But the door handle had barely been turned when it opened from the inside, two frantic human canon balls hurtling out and hitting Tom and Ginny, knocking them to the grass. For one, terrible moment, Tom thought it was a trap. But then Keara and Ricky's face came into focus and he was bowled over emotionally as well as physically.

He laughed and hugged them, telling them all over and over how much he loved them.

_Now I leave the mask behind _

To have her body pressed against his like this! They were fully clothed and standing in the middle of a Hogwarts corridor, the petrified body of Theodore Grant watching on as he attacked her neck, but never before had he felt so aroused. So much of him was screaming that it was wrong and, after everything, he didn't deserve this. But a louder, less rational voice was shouting to screw that and love this girl.

And what words that fell from her full red lips. Like warm honey, falling in his ears and scorching his brain until no coherent thought was left except the need to hear more, have more, taste more. Ginny told of burning and ashes and wonderfulness and Tom knew that one day he'd follow her and set her truly alight.

And on that day he'd know that the world might just be better than he'd always thought.

_Painting pictures that aren't so blue _

Tom still had an arm wrapped tightly around Ginny. She didn't need his hold to stay upright, but he was loathe to move it, even with Dumbledore's disapproving gaze upon them. They'd told him everything - the possession, the Basilisk, the lies and the truth. And the old man had listened as though it were all the most ordinary thing in the world.

But when they told him of their siblings his gaze hardened - the twinkle disappeared and Tom knew the codger would never forgive them. For petrifying and accidentally killing fellow students, yes. For being raped and torturing the offender to death, yes. For killing parents that had abandoned him, yes. But for indirectly being the cause of two innocents' death?

No.

_Tangled in a web _

Tom sat in the Slytherin common room in a state of shock that the older Ginny had yet to break through. In his mind he kept replaying Ginny stepping over the chasm again and again, falling to a bottomless death in an unforgiving darkness.

When had he fallen in love with the red head? When had he become such a fool? And for someone whose own family he - or some version of him - had murdered, right before her eyes. It was a hopeless situation.

Especially now she was dead, too.

_With a pain hard to forget _

They were lying side by side on the bright green grass, listening to the shrieks and catcalls of Ricky, Keara and the other children at the park. Tom turned his head so his cheek was prickled by the cool grass, his blue eyes blinking across at Ginny, who seemed to just know that he was watching her. How was it that, even blind and with faint scars marking where the slave marks had once been, this girl was the most beautiful thing in the world?

Tom apologised, about what was for her and might have been for him and she did likewise, gentle smile gifting him with her unending forgiveness as she laid to rest old demons.

Perhaps the blind could see better than most people thought.

_That was a time that I've now put to rest _

Tom stalked the room from one end the other, not knowing how to vent his frustration. Dead! She should have been dead! But instead? Instead she had been sitting in the Hall eating her dinner calm as you please. She had even _teased_ him. Like it didn't matter to her.

Tom span and punched the wall, swiftly healing the cuts after, but letting it sting a little longer. Looking down at his hands, open wide palm up he realised exactly how much he wanted to wrap them around Ginny's slender throat and squeeze her, breath by breath, until her face was blue and her damn sparkling brown eyes rolled up into her head.

Something told him, however, that his next attempt to kill her wouldn't be nearly so easy to pull off.

_Oh, the pages I've turned are the lessons I've learned _

Tom sat up suddenly, head spinning slightly. He looked down at Ginny, whose smile was a little… concerned? Puzzled? Now as well. Automatically he smiled back, forgetting she would see. But somehow it reassured her. Tom stroked a hand through her long bronze hair, loosing his fingers in the thick threads.

So much time, here. Too much time. Thinking on possibilities. It was stupid to live on 'what if's, but there were so many huge ones, stalking his every thought. Tom swallowed and looked across to where his half-brother and pseudo-sister were playing with the other children. Some nameless park in some nameless village full of nameless people.

Tom knew that he had to get away before the possibilities drove him mad.

_Somebody bring up the lights I want you to see _

The air was thick, heavy, almost like cold syrup, seeping into his very skin. And it was magnificent. The power in that air could almost be smelt, it was so potent. Tom closed his eyes and tilted his head back, simply enjoying the cold tendrils sneak through his clothes and skin making him feel utterly invincible.

And then the snake came as called. It was magnificent, making the feeling of indomitability ever more strong. This snake - _basilisk_ - obeyed his every command. And it was powerful, too. Not in the magical sense, but in its presence. The snake was so _there_, so totally in command of itself that to control such a beast was impossible.

And yet that was a control that Tom had just been given.

_My life turned around _

Why was he so angry? Tom couldn't remember. But he knew that he was, the scraps of material that had once been pillows and the feathers floating everywhere was evidence enough of that. The other boys in his house were shrank back as casually as they could in the circumstances and Tom felt, alongside some kind of vindictive pleasure, disgust for them.

He stalked down the stairs, not caring for the havoc he'd left behind. Then her voice had called his name and part of a heavy fog that he hadn't noticed was there lifted. There was something in her tone… concern and scolding, almost. He felt himself heat up from that and stormed on, leaving her frowning after him.

It took sometime for him to realise that maybe that heat was from the comfort of knowing someone actually cared for his well being.

_But I'm still living my dreams _

It seemed surprisingly apt that the light that now seared through him was that of the Slytherin house. Green. Grass green, Avada Kedavra green; life and death. And, for some reason, two separate parts of himself that he hadn't even noticed were all that different. But when he was two people… it was so strange. His thoughts were two-way. It was like he could literally argue with himself - if he wanted to.

But joining back together was even stranger. It was such a sense of righteousness in those two parts of him belonging together. There's no shadows without light, no smile without cause. And having two parts slot like overly complicated puzzle pieces so exactly, so perfectly, together was like nothing he'd ever felt before.

Then _she'd_ make him forget and he'd relive the experience for the first time, again, tomorrow.

_I've been through it all _

He was angry. Fuming, really. There were so many things about the new girl that he didn't like and they weren't just the normal things that irritated him, either, like displays of obvious emotion or inconsistent application to work. No, the new girl kept her emotions carefully masked and always had her homework done to a high standard - a suspiciously high standard.

But what really annoyed Tom was the way that she made friends with Gryffindors, ignored him. And then, when she had finally paid any attention to him she had scorned him. Not only that, but she'd… she had… tricked him! Tom snarled furiously and jumped to his feet, barely resisting the urge to rub him backside from where he'd landed awkwardly on the stone floor of the potions lab.

And then, of course, she had the nerve to _smirk_ at him.

_Hit about a million walls _

Tom opened the door and shut it with a soft click behind him. Ginny was waiting with an expectant expression on her face from where she sat on the sofa. Tom opened his mouth to say something - hadn't he had a well prepared speech ready? Instead the cold hard truth dropped bluntly from his tongue and Tom winced, waiting for her bite back and ask him how he could do such a thing.

Instead she nodded. Then Ginny stood slowly, wrapped her arms around him and hugged him. It wasn't too hard, not too loose. It was exactly the confirmation that he needed. Ginny would wait for him, no matter what. Because whilst she didn't voice the words he felt them deep in his very soul and whispered them back at her over and over.

Then Tom had said goodbye, picked up his case full of clothes and left. It was something he had to do. Travel a bit. Get rid of the past, get rid of the 'what if's that still haunted his every thought. And when he was cleansed he would return home and Ginny would welcome him with open arms.

Because Ginny… Ginny was his truth.

_Welcome to my truth_

**Fin**

* * *

_A/N:_

_From: ... ()  
__--  
'Am I allowed to eat now?' Ginny asked plaintively, causing several othersniggers. Not waiting for a reply, Ginny dug in, thinking a lot about theprevious week. Dumbledore had not asked for a lot of details and hadspecifically not asked for her sirname-_

_Surname, you illiterate twat.  
--_

_Dear … ()_

_I find it highly amusing that of my many mistakes it is this one that you pick up on. If you continued reading (which I doubt you did, in all sincerity) you would have noticed that the end of the chapters becomes increasingly worse in relation to grammar, punctuation and spelling. This is mostly due to my excitement at having finished a ten thousand word chapter. It is quite a slog, let me assure you.  
__You will also find that my use of commas is deplorable. In fact in the very segment that you picked out there is at least one punctuation mistake in relation to commas. I'd tell you what it was, but since _I'm_ the illiterate twat, I'm positive that you noted it.  
__On that subject I would like to point out that the word 'twat' is a term for a woman's vagina or genital area. Whilst I am indeed a woman (and proud of this fact) I do not hesitate to point out that there is actually more to me than my reproductive organs.  
__The fact that this is the only mistake you deigned to point out in the entire of the first chapter also makes me think that perhaps it was the only mistake you could find. I'm not trying to say that I'm perfect, you understand, merely that the type of bigoted message that you sent me is in fact a defensive method of trying to bloat your own ego.  
__I apologise and you will find that the mistake that you pointed out has been edited._

_Yours sincerely,  
__Illiterate Twat_

* * *

_A/N2: Is it wrong that I'm in stitches right now? Holy crow! What a way to end, huh? I once received on one of my other stories ages a back a highly accurate and somewhat scathing review. It was meant to help me recover what little of the plot line was left, but it encouraged me to reread what I had and realise that my reviewer had been right. They hadn't said so in as many words, but my story was crap. So I deleted that and started this instead.  
__Anyways, my point is that I'm not just after nice 'omg I lurved ur stry!' kind of reviews. They're nice but, um, kinda repetitive. I appreciate that that person has taken time to review, but there's little that I can benefit from that. Most of you guys will add a question or sentence, specifying what you liked, what I needed to explain, what the story could best be without. Which I love. Others, like the reviewer I mentioned, will be scathing, but that can be constructive too.  
__Now, this guy or gal. Has anyone else noticed that the only words they said that were their own were 'Surname, you illiterate twat' I mean, sure thanks for correcting my spelling. But it's one word in precisely 9991 (not including title/song lyrics/disclaimer/AN) that I got wrong. I really do not think that makes me 'illiterate'. Especially considering that those ten thousand words, when strung together, do make sense (on the whole)  
__I would also like to ask that if any of you ever feel the need to correct or suggest anything for my stories that you leave my anatomy out of it? I have boobs, arms, legs, a face, a tummy, a back, a butt, feet, hands and, yes, a _twat_. But that's really none of your business. And absolutely nothing to do with my literacy skills.  
__But I'm getting off the point again (if there ever was one) I found this review absolutely fricking _hilarious_. This dude or dudette couldn't even be bothered to leave their own name! I have nothing against being too lazy to sign in, I do that too! But to actually type '…' in the name bit? Jesus! How unimaginative can you get? I don't even get a 'I h8 u!' or 'So much better than you, stupid mortal' (I kinda like the last one, lol!) So when I read this, whoever this guy/gal was, I apologise but your insult only made me listen to a _The Ting Tings_ song (shudder) by accident because I was laughing too hard to pay any attention to my play list. _

_Eep! This AN is almost as long as the story, methinks. Sorry about that. I just had to vent. And to tell anyone who insults me that I laugh a lot. BUT. I hope you guys enjoyed reading this and I hope you didn't get too confused by this last little bit. The first chapter of the sequel will be out either Christmas Day or Boxing Day, depending on how much I'll have drank. I know that's quite a way off, but I need a break from these long ass chapters. If any of you want me to note/email you when the first chapter is up either email me at __, put me on your author alert list or send me a note or review saying so. If you review anonymously _please_ remember to leave an email address.  
__Thank you everyone for being so supportive, even when I confused the hell out of you. This has been a fantastic journey and I can't believe I finished it!! Please leave me one last review!_

_Much love and hugs  
__Cal  
__xxxxxxxxxxx_


	12. Sequel Update!

Just one last notice to say that the first full chapter of the sequel to this is now up. Either go through my profile page and click on _Welcome Heroes_, or follow this link here: .net/s/4741659/1/Welcome_Heroes to the prologue.

This notice will be kept up for a couple of days before I delete it, but I guess I've said all I want to say.

Thank you all of my wonderful readers and reviewers, I hope you enjoy _Welcome Heroes _as much as you have enjoyed this.

Much love,  
Cal  
xxx


End file.
